AfterShock
by Zaney HacknSlash
Summary: Matsuda and the former task force are charged with retrieving the notebook from a psychopathic criminal, but the rabbit hole is deeper than it looks, hearts are fragile, and some fates are worse than death. Sequel to FallOut. Psychological suspense-thriller Mature for explicit language, some gore, and potentially disturbing content. Matsuda centric. Multiple pov.
1. Chapter 1

**AfterShock**

_I can't_

_Recognize all the days that were lost and the heart that you_

_robbed from me._

_I won't_

_Face this on my own…_

"Sergeant Matsuda?"

At the sound of the unfamiliar voice, I turned to watch a stranger emerge from the mist and stride up the running track.

Rain had settled in around midnight, dripped a while, and finally disappeared just in time for my morning jog at the academy training facility, but the fog had only recently started to lift, revealing a still damp, mostly gray morning.

As the stranger took his time strolling toward me, I trotted in place, taking deep breaths of fresh air and checking my pulse. I knew a few of the cadets and most of the instructors—but he didn't look familiar, short, and dressed in a suit without a tie.

"Hey," I panted, thinking I'd figure out who he was after we'd talked a moment.

Throwing damp hair back from his pale eyes, he gave me a jerky wave and a milk white smile. "They told me you like to jog here right before you finish a case."

Obviously, he'd been talking to somebody familiar with my habits, but as I stared into the youthful face, framed by reddish hair, I couldn't remember seeing him even once before.

"Yeah." I grinned back at him. "Clears my head."

He had a memorable laugh—loud and energetic.

"Anyway. Can I help you?"

"Not at the moment." He tossed his hair again. "I'm just swinging by to say hello."

"Oh." Finally, I stopped jogging, thinking there was no way for me to beat my record now. "Well…"

Unsure of what to say, I paused, thinking he'd at least introduce himself. Unless I was supposed to know who he was. Hopelessly, I looked him over again. He looked younger than me—a cadet, I guessed—but his suit was nice. A cadet who came from money, maybe. His sharp gaze took me in with a half-amused air, lingering at the K scar on my left forearm.

For over a year, I'd gone to a lot of trouble to hide it from even the people who'd seen it before; it was a pain to always wear long sleeves or jackets, but I just couldn't stand the pitying, bothered glances people slanted at it when they thought I wasn't paying attention, and I definitely didn't appreciate having a stranger stare at it.

I clamped one hand over it, and he gave a flippant shrug. "Sorry to interrupt. I just thought it might be nice to meet face to face."

"No problem," I told him, trying to smile again now that I knew I wasn't supposed to know who he was. "I'm Matsuda."

I offered a light bow, but he barely inclined his head as he offered his hand. Somewhat surprised, I took it.

Grip firm, he jerked me slightly closer so that our bowing heads almost knocked. "I know."

With a nervous laugh, I straightened up and backed down. His hand felt soft, but unexpectedly aggressive. He must have spent some time outside Japan since he looked too young to be a business man, but I no longer knew whether or not he was a cadet.

It was possible at least a few of the cadets had heard about me. I mean, I'd heard plenty about Mogi, Aizawa, and Ide while I was in the academy, and from the look of this guy, there was about the same age gap between us as there was between me and the chief. Plus I'd pulled some pretty crazy stunts last year.

But I wouldn't expect a cadet to be so forward.

Suddenly breaking the handshake, he turned away. "Good to meet you," he decided in a soft spoken, easygoing tone, but as I watched him walk off, I got a twisted feeling in my stomach—a familiar tightness of distrust—the paranoia I'd been fighting with for the last year.

I couldn't help calling after him, "Hey, what's your name, Cadet?"

But he just replied, "I'm not a cadet. Just a fan!" And then he strode across the track, to the exit, and I watched him until he vanished into the fog.

_Don't let it bother you,_ I told myself, jogging again. _So you made a fan. Nothing to worry about._

For most of my life, I'd been completely carefree, never letting anything or anyone get to me, but the seeds of suspicion planted by Light's betrayal had sprouted during the Reaper case and been watered by working the last nine months as an undercover officer. Everybody I encountered was a toss up—part of the case, or not—my job was to figure out which was which; I'd had to learn to be more careful about who I trusted. The last thing I wanted was to repeat my Kira mistake.

Shaking that thought from my mind, I broke into sprint; I'd had enough fresh air for one morning.

The feeling nagged at me, though, even as I took a quick shower in the locker room. Standing under the hot water, I stared down at the scar on my arm, tracing the thick, white stem of the K with one finger. My own carelessness and trust had put it there as much as Miyami's knife had.

_That's all over,_ I assured myself, walking out to my car.

Catching the remainders of the Shinigami syndicate and rounding up all the illegal firearms the Reaper had brought into the country was taking a long time; more than once, I'd told Aizawa I wanted to help, maybe just because I did need there to be a day when I knew all the scum bags behind that incident were off the streets, but no matter how many times I brought it up, he always said, "You're not ready for that," in the same grumbled, tired tone he'd used the first time.

_You shouldn't work on that, that's what he really means._

I'd go to any lengths necessary to see them all executed—he knew that. They'd tried to kill me, all my friends, even my girlfriend. He knew _that. _He knew if any one of them came face to face with me, they would still try to kill me, whether they believed it would honestly revive Kira or not.

Knowing he was right didn't make it any less frustrating.

_One day at a time, just like Doctor Kanseki always says._

Things were quiet at the station. Crime rates had picked up a little in the last year, but they stayed low, and even though the chief kept everyone on task, Ide said peaceful times made for lazy detectives.

He met me at my desk, chiding, "Running late," as I sat down to go over my file one last time. I'd learned, finally, that every detail had to be perfect, everything I said and did had to be flawless, and if there were any doubts or holes or blank spots in the plan, I'd better not execute it.

"I'm right on time," I argued, mildly.

He leaned against my desk to shoot me a wry grin. "The boss is looking for you."

"It's not even seven." I closed the folder and got up. "What, does he live here?"

"More or less," Ide muttered.

For living at the station, Aizawa kept a Spartan office, furnished with just a desk, piled high with paperwork, and a single photo of his family. Tokyo loomed restlessly beyond the portrait window, but he somehow managed to always keep it dim, and nothing inside it ever seemed to move. Except him.

Already he paced behind the desk, like a caged tiger, frowning and glaring from the window to the door.

"Hey," I greeted, suppressing a groan and trying to smile. "I mean… Good morning, Chief."

Aizawa barely muttered at me, something that sounded a lot like, "what's good about it?"

Slowly, I shut the door and scanned the room, trying to notice what might have set him off. "What's going on? You're pacing." Never a good sign.

"It's cramped in here," he grumbled, even though I'd been telling him, all year, he had more than enough room to put a couch in his office. He jerked his chin at the chair. "Sit down."

_Oh, boy, here we go._

Reluctantly, I took a seat, watching him go around one more time before he dropped into his chair, frowning across the desk at me. "I assume everything's in order."

Even though I'd already told him everything he needed to know, I nodded. "Yep. The meeting's at four, in the location I gave you; I've never seen him take more than two guys with him to a meet like this. No guns or anything like that…"

I trailed away and cocked my head at him, noticing how he frowned into the polished surface of his desk.

"Is there something else I need to know?" I asked.

"If there was, do you think I'd waste time listening to you list details I already memorized?"

"I guess not. Ai—"

"_Chief_," he corrected through his teeth. It was only the millionth time.

"Sorry. Chief. I'm not sure what you want me to tell you."

Heaving a quiet sigh, he got up and started to pace again. While he wasn't looking, I glanced at everything on his desk, thinking maybe he'd gotten some bad news. Nothing stood out.

"Hey." Aizawa suddenly lurched back to the desk, slamming his hands down, startling me. His intense, chocolate eyes stared at me, searching for something specific in my face. "Are you ready for this?"

"What?" I laughed. "That's why you're all wound up? Ai, I've done this a bunch of times."

"A few times, Sergeant, and never by yourself before."

I shrugged. He was the one who'd decided sending in two of us would be a mistake. "It's just a drug bust."

"You told me yourself you think this guy might be connected to the yakuza."

"Yeah, I think what I actually told you was this guy _wants_ to be connected to the yakuza. I don't think he is yet."

"Someone is backing him though," Aizawa countered. "You said there's no way he's operating on his own."

"Well, yeah. I mean, it's not some mom and pop speed operation." I smirked.

Aizawa stuck out his thick lips in a scowl. "I'm glad, Sergeant, that you find all this so funny."

"It kinda is; getting all wound up about some speed bust—"

"The yakuza isn't funny, is it, Matsuda? For the record, in case there's any doubt in your mind, I would never ask you to infiltrate the yakuza by yourself at this juncture in your career."

"That's fair," I agreed, even though I still thought it was ridiculous. Who would he send to infiltrate the yakuza all alone?

Anyway, whether he wanted to come out and say it or not, he was obviously just worried about me because it was the first time I'd executed a sting on my own, so I gave him a reassuring smile. "Relax, Chief—everything's going to be okay."

Aizawa rolled his eyes. "That isn't the answer I'm looking for here."

"Sure it is!" I got up, still grinning. "You asked if everything's in order, and it is. You asked if I'm ready, and I am. Everything's okay."

Still, he just frowned. "Look. If it's not… We don't have to do this today. If you need more time, that's okay."

Compared to the way he kept everyone else on a tight schedule with their assignments, I couldn't believe he'd give me a free pass to back out of mine, but I was way too excited to even consider delaying my first real sting.

"I don't," I insisted, calmly. "Everything's fine."

At dusk, I stood outside a seedy shopping complex, casually watching the few people come and go. Like always, Kazz Akai had chosen a conspicuously dumpy location for a drug meet, but this time he'd actually picked one perfect for an easy bust. At least, I thought so, after checking it out a few days in a row. Typically, it was quiet, the parking lot mostly empty, especially at this time of night, and the few shoppers keeping the place breathing were the type to look the other way.

Some kids cluttered around the door to the little supermarket started an argument, screaming obscenities at each other and showing off gang symbols. Patrons going in for groceries gave them a wide berth, but I doubted anything would come of it.

Thoughtfully, I glanced the other way, to the end of the strip, where more kids were gathered, but they were just hanging out, maybe doing a little drinking. I'd done some loitering of my own at that age, so I didn't worry about them.

Everything moved along, business as usual. A supermarket employee came to collect carts from the parking lot. One of the nail salon girls stepped out to smoke a cigarette. No one looked twice at me.

Ide had been very critical of the location when I'd dragged him over here with me yesterday, but I'd ignored that. Ide tended to be critical of practically everything, and, anymore, he thought every idea was bad. I didn't know if he was trying to make me second guess myself just as a joke, or if he really thought the shopping complex was a mistake. Either way, Aizawa said it was completely up to me, so it must be fine.

_Or he's just letting me the hard way._

Ever since I started this job, he'd been tougher on me than ever, constantly telling me I'd just have to figure it out, tearing me up and down any time I made even a small mistake.

Trying to be discreet, I glanced to the corner, where he and Ide had parked across the street in Aizawa's new Toyota. They weren't tapped into the wire feed, but they were both watching, so I'd have to be pretty dumb not to realize Aizawa was super worried. I imagined he thought the harder he went on me, the more determined I'd be to succeed.

Hey, for all I knew, it was working. I'd do anything in my power to keep from messing up this job, especially since it seemed like he finally, finally had some faith in me, and showing up to my bust like this gave me a great opportunity, to prove once and for all, that he didn't need to worry.

In my ear piece, Lieutenant Rikimaru's voice crackled, "Don't look at the chief, Sergeant. Stay focused."

Glad everyone was too far away to see the way my face warmed up, I scanned the lot one more time. "We're all clear."

"Copy that. I've got eyes on Kazz."

_This is it._

I drew a deep breath, slipped my hands into my pockets, and took a careful look up and down the road.

Bluish headlights flooded the night, and a silver Lexus GX ripped into the complex, way nicer than most of the other cars around. It's shiny chrome gleamed, and the engine purred quietly.

"Here we go," I said to myself, taking my hands out of my pockets and reviewing in my head, one last time, the plan.

The Lexus screeched to a stop under one of the streetlights, rumbling and shuddering as I walked out to meet them, with a smile and a wave.

A second later, they killed the engine, and three men climbed out. I kept smiling, eyes open for any sign that they might be onto me. The two smaller guys barely looked around while their boss stepped up, grinning. "Mat!"

"Kazz!" I called, automatically mimicking his energy. "Kazz-ma-tazz! Man, I'm happy to see you!"

"I told you to slow down," he laughed. "You'll ruin your good looks."

"Sure, I know." I scuffed my dirty Keds over the uneven pavement. "But you only live once." I smirked at his guys. "Yeah? Moto? Yone? YOLO, am I right?"

The two of them chuckled a little. Small-eyed and tweaky, Moto had always been the suspicious one, keeping a constant look out and mad dogging me through every meeting, but tonight, even he looked relaxed.

Like always, Yone was much too stoned to care about what went on around him. The yakuza wouldn't let guys this careless fly their colors.

"Anyway, Mat," Kazz rumbled, pounding me hard on the back. He was a big guy—half Samoan, he said—and he almost knocked me down, steadying me automatically and roaring with laughter. "Let's do lunch some time!"

"Sure!" I agreed, straightening my jacket, barely thinking about the fact that he'd be behind bars by midnight. "There's this awesome new place near my house we should try."

Chuckling, he reached into his pocket, "You got it Matti. You know you're my favorite customer." With that, he produced a baggie of white powder, tossing it to me, and I held it for a long time.

It wasn't any bigger or any heavier than the last one, but it felt different—more significant, more real.

Kazz cleared his throat. "Got the money?"

I realized I'd hesitated too long and knew I'd better play up the clueless act. "Oh! Right. Yeah, yeah, sorry. Long day. Just thinking how I really need to unwind."

Fumbling for the money in the back of my jeans, I realized I was shaking. When I took the time to count it out, that was sheer nervousness. I paused for a breath, knowing Aizawa and Ide must be muttering to each other that I looked ready to panic. Kazz shifted with vague impatience. In my ear, Riki said, quietly, "Relax out there, Sergeant. It's going great."

"Don't worry about it so much," Kazz suggested, suddenly snagging the money out of my hands and shuffling quickly through it. "We can always even up later if we need to."

"Right." I took another breath and realized that was it. I had the drugs. He'd taken the money.

Pointing finger guns at me, Kazz stepped back toward his car. "Hit me up when you need more." His laugh boomed.

"Right." I tried to grin.

Riki hissed, _"Matsuda._"

Already, Kazz was opening his car door. If he got away from me, I'd never hear the end of it.

Jolting to life again, I lurched after him. "Oh, hey, just one last thing, Kazz."

Tiger eyes blinking curiously, he met my gaze, only seconds away from climbing in and peeling away. "What's up?"

I reached under my coat, sliding my fingers across the reassuringly cold steel of my pistol, and the moment I touched it, every shred of nervousness faded from the inside of my chest. I drew down, quickly, aiming right for his chest. "I'm with the NPA."

The three of them jumped. "Woah, dude!" Yone cried, sticking his hands in the air, and Moto shouted, "Fucking pig," looking ready to scramble away.

By then, lights and sirens were going off. I kept my eyes on Kazz, and he stared at me like I'd stuck a knife in his back.

I jerked my pistol at him. "On the ground, Akai!"

Slowly, he knelt, lacing his fingers behind his neck.

My team flooded past me, guns out.

Ide clapped a hand on my shoulder as he passed to take over the arrest, and Aizawa stepped up next to me. I finally lowered my gun to face the chief, grinning and running my fingers through the back of my hair. "See? No big deal."

Sternly, he grumbled, "You almost lost your focus, Matsuda."

"Well, I—"

"Matsuda_?_!" Kazz shouted, suddenly struggling against the officers who'd restrained him. "You're a _cop_? You little son of a bitch!" Riki and Ide shoved him back, but he pushed against them, eyes on fire as he charged toward me.

"You've got balls!" he yelled. "I know you—that's right. I've heard about you, _Matsuda. _Everyone has."

I clenched my pistol tighter as he lunged at me again, and this time Ide and Riki lost their grip on his beefy arms. "I know people who'd love to get their hands on you! You're dead!"

It was such a shocking thing to say, I actually opened my mouth to ask him, _who_, but Aizawa, knocked him back with a blow to the chest, shouting over me, "Ide, get this loud mouth son-of-a-bitch out of my face!"

"You got it, Chief." Socking Kazz in the stomach, Ide took hold of him again, and he and Riki started to drag him away.

As I watched them go, I felt a little shaken.

No reason for that. Sure, I'd never had a perp threaten me that way at the scene of an arrest before, but Kazz was energetic and cocky, always talking big but not backing it up.

As they stuffed him into a car, his eyes stayed leveled, hatefully, on me, and I couldn't help suddenly thinking back on the stranger I'd met at the academy track this morning.

After everything else I'd had to do today, I'd completely forgotten the guy, but now him walking away saying, "just a fan," felt almost as ominous as Kazz screaming in my face that he knew "who I was." None of it really meant anything, but it sent chills down my spine.

A hand touched my shoulder, and I jerked around to look at Aizawa again, already knowing what kind of half-worried expression would be on his face, biting a wince back because I'd thought we were past some of this.

"What was that about, Sergeant?" His gruff tone didn't match the concern in his eyes at all, and I knew he didn't want any of the others to see him treating me special.

"Who knows?" I smiled, covering my misgivings. "Guess I'm famous."

Aizawa's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Had he ever said anything like that to you before?"

"Nope." I shrugged and turned to watch the K9 unit start tearing into Kazz's Lexus. "Besides, I don't think the op would have gone off this well if he had any idea who I was. Right?" It was actually a pretty comforting thought to me, and I couldn't help grinning at him.

The chief did not grin back, and his frown had taken on a suspicious sheen. "Did you find anything more about his connections?"

"No, nothing like that. But like I said before, I don't think he has any major connections—yet."

"Well, has he ever mentioned being connected with anyone dangerous? Not just tonight, but—"

"Chief," I cut in, carefully, "I promise I'm gonna put everything I know about it in my report tonight, so you don't have to worry."

As they often did these days, his eyes took on a resigned look, and I knew he had a hard time balancing his role as my boss and his lingering feelings of being my friend. Even coming here in person, to a routine sting, after hours, spoke a lot to how he still must feel some nagging urge to watch my back.

I took the chance of patting him on the shoulder, reassuringly. "Don't worry so much. It's bad for you."

"Yeah, fine," he muttered, dissatisfied.

"Anyway, I'll see you tomorrow." I backed toward my car, hoping he wouldn't suddenly think of a bunch more questions to ask. Ai was pro at that.

Luckily, he just nodded and turned to watch the unit finish up.

"Hey, Aizawa," I couldn't help calling, when I'd gotten halfway across the lot, and he turned to me again.

"Yeah?"

I gave him a thumbs up. "It went great, though, right? I mean, I know I almost screwed up, but other than that, not bad, huh?"

It would be just like him to find something pessimistic to say right then, and in the past he'd always been great at pinpointing some detail and complaining about how I really needed to work on it, but this time, for once, he sort of smiled and called back, "You did good, Matsu. You're gonna be a great narc."

Even after his being chief for a whole year, it still felt good to hear him say I'd done a good job, and I couldn't hide the giant smile that took over my face. "Tomorrow, then!"

"Have a nice night, kiddo. You earned it."

As I walked away, the smile persisted. After all, he let me handle this almost completely by myself, and when it was over he didn't even have a lot of criticism to dish out. Sure, I'd lost myself for a second in there, and in the past that would have been when Riki took over and wrapped things up, but I'd done it on my own this time, and hopefully, in another case or two, Chief would really trust me to handle things without hovering over me the whole time.

Not that I minded his hovering, I thought, as I drove back to the station. I missed working with him, Ide, and Mogi, so in a way, it was kinda nice that he'd show up in person to watch me make a bust.

All of that was strictly personal—I knew that—and sometimes it was hard not to let it interfere with my actions, but as always, I had to cut myself some slack. Tucking back the sleeve of my jacket at a red light, I stared down at the scar on my arm again, and thought that, after the last few years, it was okay that the three of us still felt overly involved with each other.

Other people in the department could sneer about my being tight with the chief or getting special treatment, but they'd never understand how it had felt to go up against the world with just my friends at my back, or how desperately I'd wanted to keep anything from happening to them. None of them really got how it had felt to watch Akki Toyoshi put a gun to Aizawa's head and know that there wasn't any saving him.

Anyway. I shook that image away, as I always did. That was over, things worked out okay… As okay as they could. The four of us were lucky to be alive, and regular visits to my therapist plus getting more involved with work had helped a lot in putting me back on track. With Aizawa in charge now and Mogi gone, things had changed, but I thought it was all for the best.

_I should call Mogi_, I told myself, strolling into the station. _He'll wanna know how the bust went._

Even from far away, Kanzo Mogi was good for silent, steadfast support, and he'd always been better than Aizawa and Ide about telling me what he really thought. Last time we talked, he'd even said, "I'm proud of you, Matsu."

Come to think of it, not that long ago, even Ide had muttered in his halfway sincere tone, "I didn't think a spaz like you could pull it off…but you're actually doing okay with this undercover stuff."

That might be the best I'd ever get from him, but it was just as good as hearing Aizawa say I'd done well. Better, maybe, since Ide had acted so completely against my going undercover in the beginning. Knowing he felt concerned for me didn't make it any less tedious to have him prying into why I'd accepted the position and even trying to talk me out of it every time something went wrong. Hopefully, after tonight, he'd back off.

He was already at the station when I got there, wrapping up booking Kazz and his guys; he smiled when he saw me and teased, "Oh, if it isn't 007 himself! Hey, you almost gave the chief a panic attack, spacing out in the middle of the bust. I get it if you wanna keep everyone in suspense, but maybe work on your timing." And then he punched me in the shoulder, while I stood back, laughing sheepishly and feeling my face glow with embarrassment and a sense of pride.

We talked a moment about some of the logistics of arresting Kazz, and then Ide told me, more seriously, "Chief's pretty happy with you, even if he doesn't say so." "Just doing my job!" I told him, still struggling to hide the happiness threatening to burst out of my chest.

"Sure, but I meant I think he's glad this is actually paying off."

"Me too," I announced, and I really was relieved. I had known Aizawa took a serious risk when he asked me to go undercover. Even during my leadership courses and training, my classmates had all stared at me like they couldn't understand why Matsuda of all people was there with them, and I'd known that if I failed, it would look really bad on the boss.

That was a lot of pressure to handle—a lot of sleepless nights spent studying, a lot of anxiety over what could go wrong. Halfway into it, I'd stopped to see Aizawa at his house, because it had felt like the only secure place to have such a sensitive conversation, and even though he'd been annoyed to have me show up unannounced, he'd heard me out.

"_I should quit,"_ I'd told him, without any ado. "_I'm going to screw this up, and it's _your_ career on the line."_

Aizawa had blinked, but not like he didn't know that himself, more like he hadn't expected me to realize it, and then he'd said, supremely irritated, "_I won't let you quit. I've already invested too much."_

_ "Yeah, but, Aizawa, I don't want to make you look bad."_

_ "Then I guess you need to do better, Sergeant,"_ he'd told me, sternly. "_Besides, I don't know what else to do with you, so you'll just have to live with that. Now get off my doorstep."_

Smirking to myself, I remembered the unapologetic way he'd slammed the door in my face, leaving me to wander away and wrestle with the dilemma alone. He'd been right anyway. I was in too deep to go back, and I was much too restless to just sit down and do my desk work like I should. I did have to do better.

Tonight, though, with everyone in the station greeting me like a hero, congratulating me on my first solo op, I knew I'd succeeded. There was nowhere to go but up.

From the station, I headed home to clean up and change clothes, and then I grabbed a bottle of wine on the way to Sayu's place, unable to stop smiling the whole way. At the end of the day, after a big success, the best part was still that I got to spend the evening with her and share my victory.

She had moved with her mom to a place on the outskirts of town several months ago, and the neighborhood was quaint and quiet, full of small houses and not much light. I parked along the street and whistled my way up to the door, only pausing for a second to think about what Sachiko might think.

Originally, we'd agreed to take things slow and tell Sachiko everything when the time was right, but with me showing up constantly to surprise Sayu with flowers or candy, hiding our relationship hadn't worked out so well; I could only hope she'd accept it in time and be happy for us.

For a more intimate night, Sayu normally came to my apartment, but tonight, I just wanted to have a few glasses of wine, maybe watch a movie, sit, content, with the feeling of her in my arms, and enjoy the satisfaction of things going right for a change.

Already smiling, Sayu answered the door, her caramel-colored eyes lit up like starlight. Hair tumbling messily around her shoulders, even in her oversized sweater and leggings, she took away my breath.

I waved the wine at her. "Hey, Sayu, I just—"

She jumped into my arms, winding herself around my neck and squeezing me tight like she hadn't seen me in weeks, and I felt her soft lips brush across my cheek. The fervent way she murmured, "I knew you'd come!" made me feel like a hero.

A quiet moment passed, and I settled my head into her shoulder, sliding my free hand up her back, and taking deep breaths of her shampoo and laundry detergent, feeling complete.

"Sorry I didn't call first," I told her when we finally let go of each other, just like I always did.

And Sayu, just as eagerly as if she was telling me the first time, answered, "I love it when you surprise me," and took my hand between hers, pulling me into the modest living room.

"I brought wine." I set that on the coffee table, careful to use a coaster. "And I thought we could watch that movie you were telling me about. If your mom doesn't mind." I glanced around the house at the dim lamps filling the space with a warm glow, and the darkened hall leading back to the bedrooms.

Sayu beamed up at me, pink tenderness coloring her cheeks and eyes deep with bright highlights and dark shadows, mouth so fresh and full, I couldn't help leaning down to kiss it, slowly.

"Mom's out of town," she said, chuckling and hitting me lightly on the chest. "I told you about that."

"Oh, right. In Enoshima, visiting family?"

"Yep." She squeezed against me again. "I'm all yours tonight."

While I opened the wine, she brought some glasses, coming back to crawl into my lap as I poured the drinks and made small talk, clinging to me and running her fingers through my hair.

"I'm waiting!" she announced, suddenly, after her first small sip.

Innocently, I looked at her. "Waiting for what?"

"Tell me about the op!" she insisted with a laugh, and kissed the side of my head. "Did it go okay?"

Immediately, all the pride and pleasure I'd been fighting to contain at the station burst out of me. I pushed her, gently, off my lap, to get up and march around the room once, laughing and grinning. "It was amazing! You shoulda' been there, Sayu! It all went perfect!" I brushed the hair from my eyes, thinking back on it. "I mean, I guess it always goes fine, but this time it was all me! I set up the meet and picked the location, I spent all the time getting to know the perp and gaining his trust! He even invited me to lunch and called me his favorite customer!"

Giggling, Sayu applauded lightly.

I grinned down at her. "I've never seen a perp invite _Riki_ to lunch! And the arrest went smooth, that's always nice." Momentarily, I thought about telling her how I'd nearly screwed it up or the weird threats Kazz had made, but none of that mattered when I was sharing a success with the woman I loved. "Hey, Aizawa and Ide even told me I did a good job! That never happens!"

"Yeah, but they probably think it all the time," she decided, taking another sip of wine. "You know how they are."

"Right?" I rolled my eyes. "This time, though, they were both impressed with me. I bet Aizawa will even start giving me bigger cases to work on. Not that I mind the small stuff. But now he knows I can do it—who knows what I'll be investigating next!"

Maybe he'd even let me help catch the remnants of the syndicate.

"I'm happy for you, Peaches!" she said brightly, and reached her hands out, inviting me back to her.

The moment our fingers brushed, it seemed like I was completely wrapped up in her, mouths locked together, arms holding each other tightly, my fingers threaded into her hair, her hands clinging to my shirt and cupping my face.

"I love you," she whispered, breathless, delicate nose still pressed against mine.

"Really?" I gasped, the way I always did. "I'm not too old, right?"

Sayu laughed quietly and kissed me fiercely. "No, no. You are perfect."

I squeezed her so tightly, I thought we might melt into one another. "I love you too. So much."

A long time passed, and we stared into each other's eyes. Sometimes, I felt I could still see pain in hers, or darkness, and sometimes her smile didn't seem quite true. I didn't forget she'd been through a lot, or my part in it all, and deep inside, I knew there might be a day when her resentment and agony took over, a day when she might not want me, a day when she might wake up next to me and realize she actually hated me for some of what had happened. That wasn't today, though, and all I wanted was just to enjoy every moment I had with her, like it was the last one I'd ever get.

Still holding my hands, Sayu eased off the couch and leaned forward to brush her lips over my forehead. "I'm proud of you," she murmured into my hair. "I can't wait to celebrate with you, I'm just gonna go clean up."

"Don't take too long." I kissed her tiny hand, and watched her sway off into the dark of the hall, still grinning over her shoulder at me.

"I'll be right back, Sweetheart."

While I waited, I found the movie she wanted to watch—some new rom com she'd been raving about for weeks—humming to myself as I set it up and fast forwarded through the previews, looking back on the great day I'd had, thrilled that it was ending like this, with Sayu.

I'd just gotten to the menu when I heard a knock on the front door. Down the hall, a faint bar of light radiated from Sayu's room, so I shrugged to myself. It wasn't that late. Probably a neighbor.

Still singing under my breath, I crossed to the door and pulled it open with a smile. "Can I help—?"

Someone jammed the barrel of a gun under my nose, and I got just a glimpse of flinty eyes through the shadows.

A dark voice growled, "Let's go."


	2. Chapter 2

**Aizawa**

_Everything went well today,_ I reminded myself, walking the trash out to the curb. Matsuda said it. Even Ide said it. _Everything went great. No reason to worry._

To pretend the nagging feeling in my chest hadn't been there for the last fifteen months would be pointless. Every morning, as soon as I woke up, it was there, and when I finally lay down again, it was stronger than ever, keeping me awake. Sometimes, it was quiet, barely noticeable, as I went about my life, minding my own business, but it never completely went away.

_It's fine_, I had to tell myself. _It's all fine._

Being chief was going fine, I got to be home more often, which made Eriko happier, the kids were well; I saw no apparent reason for worry.

Today, though, when I woke up, the uneasiness felt stronger than usual, and I couldn't ignore it. I didn't want to think that was the reason I'd tried to convince Matsuda to put the sting on hold. I'd thought if I hinted at my concerns, he'd realize something was amiss and tell me we should postpone, but he'd blazed with overconfidence.

_And why not?_ I thought, dropping the trash into the can. _Everything went well._

In the last year, Matsuda had grown more reckless and impulsive than ever. Go figure, with age, most people grew out of that, but Matsuda just seemed to get more and more ridiculously cocky as he aged, as if realizing his potential for the first time made him feel like he couldn't possibly go wrong, and any time one of us tried to check it, he'd counter by reminding us, "I'm a Sagittarius," as if that granted him some free pass to blindly follow his instincts.

But, today, everything went fine.

Watching my breath steam in the crisp air, I gazed down the dark street, through our sleepy neighborhood.

Rikimaru told me months ago he thought Matsuda could handle an undercover operation on his own, and, being that he was a time-tested detective, there hadn't been any reason to doubt that opinion, but all the same, I'd dragged my feet, actively giving myself excuses for why it could be a bad idea.

_There are still people who'd love to see him dead_.

Sending him down into the underworld where some of those people were no-doubt lurking felt almost irresponsible, but there was no explaining that to him. Sometimes it seemed like he was determined to pretend that the Reaper case and even the Kira case had just never happened at all.

"_That's not what he's doing_," Ide had told me, when I brought it up. "_He just doesn't like to worry you—can't believe you haven't figured that out yet. Matsuda. Hates. To worry you."_

Plenty of reasons for that, I supposed. Being worried made me peevish, being peevish generally ended with me snapping at him. Besides, he was thirty-two, and at that age, I would have hated to have anyone worrying about me also.

Of course, at thirty-two, I'd been at least twice as responsible as flighty, thoughtless Matsu.

Anyway, since it all went fine, the nagging sense of concern should have quieted. This was a great time to take it easy, if I'd only let myself, and focus on my family.

Since Yumi turned thirteen, though, it seemed like she'd transformed overnight into a sulky teenager. I'd heard about that kind of thing before, but I honestly hadn't thought it would happen to my sweet daughter.

Anymore, it felt like I had a frowny, little stranger living in my house.

Tonight, she was giving me the silent treatment because I'd told her she was too young to date some punk, and that she needed to be focused on her studies, and damn if it didn't drive me crazy to watch her chat with her mother and brother about school and then outright ignore me when I asked a question.

_I'll straighten her out_, I told myself, thinking I knew just how to curb that kind of disrespect.

But then I'd look at her, and all I'd see was my little girl, and I didn't think I could stand to straighten her out.

In the end, sneaking a cigarette on the curb felt like my only solution, so I stood a while, staring at the night sky, trying not to think about any of the things stressing me out.

Yumi would be okay. Eriko kept saying it was all just a phase. School got tough at that age. In time she'd come around and remember I was still her daddy.

_And until then, do I have to keep walking on eggshells around my own daughter?_

What was it with kids these days?

_Is Tomiichi going to wake up one day and just hate me too?_

Damn teenagers.

At least it would be a while with Tomi, I comforted myself, taking the last few drags off my cigarette. He was only seven, so my word was still law to him, and, more importantly, he still genuinely enjoyed my company, demanding as much of my time as he could get.

_I should do something with them tomorrow,_ I decided. _It's Saturday. Why not? Give Eriko a break._

Finding activities both my teenage daughter and young son would enjoy had gotten difficult, but at least if I could convince Yumi to talk to me and spend time with me, Tomi would be happy to go along.

Maybe inviting Uncle Hideki would help; Yumi was really curious about Kei, and, though I doubt he'd ever noticed, she had a special place for Ide in her heart. Having him around might help lighten her up.

Back in the day, Hideki and I used to take the kids all over together, so I knew he wouldn't mind, and, lately, he'd seemed much happier than I'd seen him in a long, long time; he'd cut back on his smoking and had been keeping his car and his new office tidy. Maybe no one else noticed those things, but it was a load off my mind.

When he was younger, he used to turn almost neurotic, so obsessed with maintaining control over his environment, he'd let everything else fall apart. In middle age, he'd doubled back the other direction, and the messier his desk or his car became, the more stressed out it made him, and so the more energy he channeled into fixing whatever was troubling him, leaving no extra time to clean up the places he needed to be most comfortable. Eventually, he always transformed into a turbulent clump of discontent.

Many times, he'd arrived at my house with nothing but a light duffle, begging to crash just a day or two so he could get his head together. But that always turned into more than a week, probably because the comfort and serenity of being a guest restored some of his peace.

Stressed out Hideki was so unpleasant, neither my wife nor I had ever complained.

Possibly, we'd never have to go through that again. These days, I got a distinct sense of contentment any time I was around him, and I knew he wanted to simply settle into his role as captain and ride my coat tails to the end of his career. Fine with me. Much better, in fact, than some of the alternatives. I needed to thank Kei. As usual, he was his best possible self while in a wholesome relationship.

That was that. Hideki was finally happy, Matsuda seemed to be on track with his career and his girlfriend, Mogi had his dream job, and I could rest on the feeling that I'd gotten the former task force through the aftershock of the Kira investigation without corrupting myself or compromising classified information.

Telling Sayu about the death note didn't count, and, seeing how happy she was with Matsu—both displaying inappropriate amounts of affection in public—I didn't regret it.

Only a couple weeks ago, they'd dropped by—unnannounced, of course—Eriko hadn't been around that day, and I'd been here with the kids, so seeing the two of them, chattering constantly and clinging to each other had given me a sour attitude. And then, before I knew it, Sayu was painting Yumi's nails and Matsuda had started playing ball with Tomi in the back yard. It had been nice. I hadn't been able to help pounding knuckle-head on the back as I'd asked, "So, are you going to be a dad someday, or what?"

Quietly, he'd smiled and murmured, shyly, "Um. Maybe. Right?"

Knowing how screwed up he'd been, it could be he just wasn't ready to think about that, but at least he had somebody he genuinely seemed to love to form a family with.

And my family. My family was finally okay.

Just as I reached the door, my phone rang, displaying Sayu's name.

_Speak of the devil._

A second too late, I wondered what she'd be calling me at ten at night for, and by then, she was already wailing in my ear, "Touta's gone! I can't find him anywhere—I've looked all over!"

"Woah, wait. What do you mean he's gone?"

In a strained voice, she told me how he'd dropped by to surprise her, how she'd left the room for just a few minutes, only to come back and find him missing.

"I don't know what to do!" she cried. "That was hours ago!"

"He's been missing for hours?"

"Almost two! I've tried calling him, but he left his phone here!"

Wandering off in a bout of mindlessness wasn't unlike Matsu, but if she'd waited this long to contact me, Sayu must have real cause for concern.

"Calm down," I instructed. "I'll be right there."

We hung up, and I spent a moment on the stoop, puzzling over the fact that Matsuda would disappear for no reason.

_So much for a quiet night at home._

The nagging sensation of worry transformed all too quickly into dread, and then, without warning, horrible images flooded my mind. Clearly, to this day, I remembered the way Izanagi Chiba had thrashed, desperately, while the Reaper in his demonic mask had stood over him, and the wheezing, choking pants, the scarlet gushing from his tongueless mouth as he bled out before my eyes.

Not a day had passed since Matsuda and I stood back, helplessly watching Chiba's mansion burn to the ground, that I hadn't kicked myself or wondered what I could have done to save him, but I'd sworn to myself I wouldn't let anything that profane happen to one of my men ever again.

_This isn't that. There's no reason to even consider that right now._

Doing my best to strangle my alarm, I stormed back into the house, where Eriko met me with a dark look.

"I _saw _you! I saw you smoking, Shuichi Aizawa! I thought you said you were done with that!"

I hadn't even realized the end of my cigarette still smoldered between my fingers.

"That damn Hideki is going to hear about this—I swear! The two of you—"

"Hideki," I echoed, tossing the butt into the nearest potted plant.

"Shuichi!" she roared, diving after it, while I got my phone out again to dial Ide.

He sounded annoyed when he answered. "This better be good." I heard Kei laughing in the background and shouting, "Hi, Chief!"

"Meet me at the Yagami's house," I ordered, grabbing my coat. "You know where it is?"

"No. Why would I? They moved."

"Never mind. Come over here first and pick me up."

"_Shuichi_, some of us have plans."

"As if you weren't just about to go to bed."

"That's a plan when you've got a girl—"

"I need your help," I snapped. "Just be here, Ide."

I hung up on him, and faced Eriko, who stared wide-eyed at me, expression torn between outrage and concern.

"I'm sorry, babe," I told her, hesitating. "I have to go. We'll talk about it later."

She threw her hands up. "Tell Hideki hello, I guess."

Ide showed up in less than a half hour, grumbling about what a pain I was and bitching that he'd better be getting overtime for this.

"Matsuda's missing," I told him.

With a frown, he turned to me. "Are you sure?"

"Maybe. I don't know yet. We have to go talk to Sayu."

"Great," he sighed, following my directions to Sachiko's new place. "Knowing him, he'll be there when we show up."

"He'd better be." I'd rather not consider any ugly alternatives, and suddenly I couldn't stop thinking about what the perp had said today. What did he mean by all that? Who was he to threaten my sergeant? Supposedly, he didn't have the connections to make a big play like going after an NPA detective. I'd intended to question him about it first thing tomorrow, just to be sure.

Now my chest was getting tight. I tried calling Matsuda but it just rang and rang, and my mind drifted to the ugly scars on his arm. "Last time this happened, we couldn't get there in time. We're lucky he's not dead."

"It's not like last time," Ide reminded me, calmly, and he was right. We weren't up to our necks in a dangerous investigation, Matsuda had been in high spirits earlier, he had no reason to walk off and never come back.

That, though, turned out to be the least comforting aspect of it, because if Matsuda hadn'twandered away in a bout of mindlessness, something more sinister could have happened to him.

Exactly like it had Chiba. It had taken me far too long to realize exactly how sinister a fate Chiba had met with, and by the time I learned of it, I couldn't do anything except wish that he had died in that house fire. But it didn't alleviate my guilt.

"Who would take him?" I muttered to myself, but there wasn't any point in wondering that. Ide had told me himself, just a few weeks ago, while giving me an update on his investigation, that even though they were lying low, every member of the syndicate he picked up spoke of Matsuda with vehement hatred, and then he'd added, quietly, _"sometimes I feel as if half the city wants to see him dead."_

We were supposed to prevent that.

"Could we have missed something?"

"Let's try not to jump to conclusions," Ide suggested, as we pulled into the Yagami driveway, just behind Matsuda's red Mazda.

Best not to. Matsuda was a good cop. Despite his tendency to space out, I wanted to believe he had the competency to stay safe even off duty.

All the same, when I saw Sayu, a pile of rocks settled in my stomach.

Frantic, but not quite hysterical, she met us outside, clutching Matsuda's jacket in her hands, eyes bright with worry, but not yet filled with tears, and told us the whole story, again, of how he'd seemingly vanished in the short amount of time it had taken her to change clothes. According to her, he'd left behind his phone, his coat, and even his shoes.

Hideki and I had worked enough missing persons cases to know that, sometimes, the victim turned up a few hours later, and, sometimes, they were never seen again. Thinking objectively was crucial to doing a thorough job, but that felt almost impossible, and as I searched, the pressure in my chest intensified.

Inside, I saw no sign of struggle or unlawful entry—not so much as a throw pillow lying on the floor—and everything was locked up tight, except for the front door, which, Sayu said, had been left wide open. I didn't know why he'd leave it open, but at least I knew no one had burst in, beat him up, and dragged him away.

Retrieving his car keys from his jacket, we searched the Mazda next, but there wasn't much to find in the immaculate cab, other than a receipt for wine, purchased a little more than two hours after Ide saw him at the station. I slipped it into an evidence baggy, feeling like a fool.

Next, Ide took Sayu in his car so she wouldn't have to be alone while we scoured the neighborhood, and I went on foot.

Everything was quiet, and not a lot stood in walking distance anyway. I found a convenience store and a dive bar full of washed up old men, questioned a few people, but nobody had seen the kid. Heart growing heavier, I knocked on several doors to ask the neighbors if they'd seen anything suspicious, but I couldn't canvass the whole area alone. As I headed back to the Yagami house, I called for a team to come meet us.

Maybe that was jumping the gun. So far, there was no immediate explanation for where Matsuda might have gone without his shoes and coat, but it gave me a gut-wrenching sense of urgency, a flashback to last year, when losing him had felt inevitable. I tried to contain that, reminding myself that there was no definite reason to think he was in danger. It was important to stay calm for Sayu's sake.

Poor girl was a mess, wearing his coat and pressing the sleeves to her nose as if to wish him back into it. Seeing her like that, shivering in the cold, miserable and scared, made me feel more idiotic than ever.

"Tell me more about what he said when he got here," I directed, gently, once we were all back inside.

"He didn't say very much," she sniffed, in a strained voice, and clutched his coat all the tighter. "He just told me the op went well; he seemed happy—wanted to celebrate." She gestured to the untouched glasses of wine on the table.

"Where's your mother?" Ide asked.

Everyone knew Sachiko didn't approve of their dating, and, for a moment, I sincerely hoped this was all as simple as Matsuda guiltily leaving without a word because she'd said something to him.

But Sayu answered, "She's out of town for a few days."

My half-baked theory didn't make sense anyway. Matsuda wouldn't have left everything he owned and walked home.

Tapping my pen, I studied his flawlessly polished oxfords by the door, nothing like the worn Keds he'd had on earlier. Possibly, he'd had extra shoes or even a jacket in his car, so there was no reason to assume he was going around without either.

_Dammit. I am ignoring the obvious…because I don't want it to be true._

Who could blame me? Chiba's fate had been horrifying enough—a failure I couldn't live down—but Matsuda meant something to me on a personal level. Of course, I'd rather not consider the possibility that he might be face down in a gutter somewhere.

At last, sighing, I asked, "Did you notice anything suspicious? Anyone around here acting strange. Cars parked out of place. Some sign that he was being followed."

Sayu's face blanched. "No… You think…someone maybe _took _him?"

"Not necessarily," Ide answered, giving me a long look. "We just need all the facts we can get."

"I didn't notice anything strange," Sayu murmured and paused, drawing a tight breath. "He said the op went okay. Did it really?"

"The op went fine," I muttered, reluctant to answer questions when I had so many of my own.

"I just wonder. He's not a liar—of course not—but sometimes I know he downplays things so I won't worry."

Matsuda was strange like that. If he jammed his finger or got a sore arm from shooting at the gun range, he'd whine about it all day, park somewhere conspicuous, and look at us like we were supposed to baby him over it; but if he walked into the station with his face all beat to hell, it was suddenly nothing but, "I'm fine," "don't worry," and unbelievable lies about falling into coffee tables.

Carefully, I reviewed, in my mind, the brief encounters I'd had with him today, but I had no reason to believe his confidence had been faked, and I hoped that if something was wrong, he would have told me.

Then again, if I was perfectly honest with myself, some of the things he'd done in the past—investigating behind my back and withholding key pieces of information—had shaken my trust in him, and I wasn't completely sure he wouldn't have kept something from me just so I wouldn't worry or yell at him.

_We're supposed to be past all that_, I thought, irritably. As chief, I shouldn't have to wonder if my sergeant had given me all the facts, and trusting Matsuda had become a choice more than anything. I had to believe he hadn't intentionally left me in the dark.

"The op went fine," I repeated. "I'm sure it's unrelated."

After that, Sayu called a friend to come and stay with her, and I instructed some of the team that showed up to post outside her house, just in case. When I felt sure she'd be in good hands, Ide and I promised Sayu we were going to do our best, and left.

"Are you really sure it's unrelated?" Ide asked on our way back to his car. "Insinuating Matsuda got kidnapped doesn't make it seem like you are."

Warily, I glanced back at the house. "We can't ignore any possibilities. You know that. Besides, there's no reason for him to disappear without explanation—"

"That we know of," Ide interjected, voicing my private concerns, as usual.

Hopefully, I looked at him. "He tells you about what he's working on sometimes."

"Sometimes," he agreed, starting a cigarette and brushing the hair from his forehead in a sign of frustration. "If he told me anything important this time, it went over my head." And then he frowned, deeply, out into the night. "I have no idea where Matsu is, Shuichi. If I did, I'd say something."

Even if Matsuda had told him something in confidence, he'd share it with me now that the kid had gone missing. I had no doubt about that.

I went around to the passenger's side. "Matsuda suggested that Kazz Akai was connected with someone more dangerous, but he never found any evidence to substantiate it, and, since the men we arrested tonight were mid-level dealers at best, I have a hard time believing this could be related to his investigation. I don't know why anyonewould come after him_. _Unless it's the syndicate."

"That would surprise me," Ide said, as we set out again. "Believe me, most of those fuckers have been indoctrinated with such extreme loyalty to Kira, they'll never wake up from it, but, lately, they're lying low."

All because they were fighting with him in particular, and any time one of them so much as showed his ugly head, Ide found a way to pick up a dozen of them. I'd given him that assignment, but he'd made it his mission in life to eradicate them.

"You said there's a new general making recruits."

"They call him Uko-san," Ide confirmed. "But I've got eyes on him, Shuichi. He's not in any position to snatch Matsuda out from under your nose." He shot me a knowing look. "He's the kind of man who won't risk pissing you off until he knows he can get away with it."

"Weird quality for a crime syndicate general to have," I grumbled, unconvinced.

"Not really. The way you and Matsuda took down the Reaper, the syndicate knows messing with him means messing with you, and you're not some outcast, nobody captain anymore."

Those fuckers were right about that at least. If they killed Matsuda for their farce Rakuen or their sense of fanaticism, I'd bring Tokyo down on their heads.

"I'm not saying it's impossible for them to be behind this, I'm just saying I wouldn't personally jump to that conclusion just yet."

"You seem pretty sure."

"I really don't think they'd go after him right now…" He sighed, and then muttered, reluctantly, "Just as long as he didn't go after them."

Numerous times, Matsuda had expressed a desire to help Ide's team finish off the syndicate; not only had I given him a definitive no, I'd instructed Ide to keep his operation as quiet as possible. Matsuda knew the syndicate wasn't gone completely, yet, but that was all he knew.

That was best for him. Giving him new responsibilities and challenges kept him occupied and helped draw him out of the depression he'd fallen into after Light died; he was too busy to think about the syndicate, and I knew Ide would keep him away from them. Lieutenant Rikimaru was under instructions to watch his back also.

Nevertheless, I knew it wasn't impossible for him to take it upon himself to go and try to infiltrate them, just like it wasn't impossible for them to have decided to scoop him up.

Optimism hadn't helped Chiba, and it wouldn't help Matsuda; it might salvage my peace of mind, but if I wanted to get him back, I needed to prepare for the worst.

Desperate for answers, we headed to his apartment and let ourselves in, and I sincerely hoped he'd just be there, with some dumb excuse for what he'd done, perfectly fine. After all, hearing him say something along the lines of, "I just realized I was really tired, so I got a taxi and came back here," would be so much better than to know he was out there, somewhere, probably in danger.

To my dismay, the apartment was as quiet as Sayu's house had been. I stood back a while and stared around at the glowing stove light in the kitchen, the bamboo on the breakfast bar, the omamori clacking gently by the open balcony, wishing, against all sense and reason, to find the place trashed. At least if I walked in to find everything he owned broken and destroyed, I'd have something to go off, a place to start, evidence that might lead me to him.

"Cleaner than my bachelor pad ever was," Ide muttered, kicking off his shoes and prowling away to start investigating anyway.

I stood paralyzed by the door a while, not wanting to go in and look around at his possessions and wonder where the hell he was. Eventually, I drifted through the living room and into the kitchen, where he'd left a coffee mug sitting out, maybe in a hurry this morning, too rushed to wash it before he went to work. On the fridge, he'd tacked up a photo of him and Sayu at the Gojira statue in Hibiya Chanter Square. She had her hands pressed lightly to her cheeks in a feigned look of alarm; Matsuda was trying to look scared too, but he'd wound up laughing when the shot was taken. Easily, I imagined him yelling at the top of his lungs, GODZIRA! just to be a dork. He looked happy.

Barely thinking about it, I plucked the photo down and tucked it in my wallet; it was pretty recent, and if I had to go looking all over town for him, I'd need it.

_Maybe it won't come to that. Maybe you'll just show up. Maybe you'll even have a good explanation._

Good explanation or not, I'd scream at him until I passed out for scaring the shit out of me—again.

Meticulously, I checked the coat closet, searching pockets for receipts, notes—even though he hated to write things down—ticket stubs, anything even remotely suspicious, but aside from a handful of change, all his jackets were empty.

Sighing, I ran the colorful sleeve of his BAPE hoodie through my fingers. I remembered it from several months back, when he'd tried to wear it on his very first undercover case. I'd reminded him to dress down the night before, but I'd never expected him to come in draped in something so loud and outrageous. Nevertheless, when I'd told him there was no way in hell he was wearing that 'stupid sweatshirt,' he'd asked, _"Why not? You told me to dress normal."_

_ "That's normal to you?"_

I remembered the defensive way he'd smoothed the front of the hoodie, insisting, _"I'm supposed to look like a tweaker, right?"_

_ "No tweaker would be caught dead in something that stupid looking. Take it off."_

_"But look!"_ He'd zipped it up all the way to the top of the hood, making him look like a big, multi-colored shark. _"It hides my face! It's great!"_

_ "Yeah, yeah, perfect for going undercover. Take it off before I rip you out of it."_

At last, he'd relented, complaining about the cold day and how he hadn't brought a back up jacket, and eventually he'd annoyed me so much, I'd loaned him my own just to shut him up, but I'd had to wash it that night, seeing how it had come back to me reeking like his tasteless cologne.

_Where the hell are you?_

I let go of the hoodie, wondering if I had been the idiot this time, sending someone who'd wear something like that undercover.

"I'd say Matsuda's barely been here all day," Ide announced, startling me, and I turned to find him right at my shoulder, snapping his gloves off. "Where should we look next?"

"The usual places… Check with his family…friends…" I stared around the apartment again, at a loss, because I knew those people couldn't help us. "Would you mind staying here tonight?"

Ide glanced around like the open space and blankness unnerved him. "Stay here? All night?"

"In case he comes home."

He frowned and sighed, but said, "Yeah. Okay."

"I'd do it," I said, apologetically. I _wanted_ to do it. But I wanted to search for him. I wanted to go home, sleep. I wanted to find him. "You know how it is."

"No big deal," he muttered, dropping onto the couch, but then he added, "Stupid Matsuda, disappearing on a Friday."

Frankly, it rubbed me the wrong way, and I couldn't help saying, "If he turns up dead, I'm gonna throw it in your face you said that."

Ide's eyes widened. "Matsuda's not dead, Shuichi. He may not even be missing—he's only been gone a few hours."

"Okay, so where do you think he went without his shoes and car keys and everything else on the planet he might need?"

"If he was really kidnapped, there's nothing we can do until someone contacts us with their demands."

"So you don't care at all. You just want to go home and bone Kei, and—"

"No." A slight glare shadowed his face. "All I'm saying is it's too early to assume he's dead. And,wherever he is, we could turn the whole city upside down and never find him."

"I'm the chief," I growled. "One of my guys is missing. What do you expect me to do?"

"All right, Chief." He agreed, in his most obliging tone. "Go home to Eriko, then, and have a good night."

Halfway back to the door, I stopped. "I'm _not_ going home, Hideki. I'm going to the station to organize a team, and no, I don't expect to get any sleep. Is that what you want to hear?"

Shame entered his annoyed expression as he looked away, puffing his cigarette in silence.

"I have no idea why you think I'm going to get any sleep at all while he's missing!"

"No," he agreed. "I know. I'm just…worried."

It wasn't like him to admit to his personal feelings so easily, and I hesitated before saying, "Me, too."

"I can't think of any reason for Matsuda to wander off either… I'm just saying…it wouldn't be the first time."

"Yeah." There was still some hope that that's what he'd done, but if he had, I'd already seen that he knew how not to be found.

**Ide**

The night I spent on Matsuda's couch was restless. First, I had to call Kei and explain the situation to her, and, luckily, she was low maintenance enough to agree that finding Matsuda was more important than my coming home. She even said she'd go to the station and offer to be part of the search team, which was a big difference from most of the women I'd been with in the past, and it made me feel a lot better to know she wanted to be supportive instead of dreading going home to find her pouting and inconsolable.

That out of the way, I did what little I could where I was; calling his family didn't help—everyone was apparently asleep by then—and knocking on neighbors' doors was just as useless—they all knew exactly who he was, but not where, and from the way they talked, he wasn't exactly friends with any of them, just the cheery neighbor boy who always said hello in the hallway.

My conversation with Aizawa bothered me. Of course, I cared that Matsu was gone; I cared that Chief was going to drive himself into the ground trying to discover where his favorite had disappeared to. Of course, I wanted to help.

But I really would be irritated if the spaz showed up on his own, spouting off some stupid excuse.

_I'd prefer that to his being taken._

When I'd finished with the neighbors, I wandered down to the liquor store where he'd bought the wine, but the cashiers had changed shifts since then, and nobody there could help me either.

Eventually, I decided getting some sleep so I could be fresh for tomorrow was the only way to help him, but although the suede, leather couch looked nice, it was lumpy. Even with the curtains drawn, the light spilling in from the balcony illuminated Matsuda's blank walls, and despite the fact that I went around and checked each window, a deathless draft blew through the open space.

Here and again, I managed to doze off, but every insignificant noise stirred me back to life, and I woke up at least half a dozen times, thinking I'd heard the door. Once, I even called him by name. But Matsuda didn't come home.

Turning the situation over and over in my mind made me feel more and more responsible, and soon I found myself dissecting the last few conversations I'd had with Matsuda, just in case there really had been some indication that he was in trouble.

No, though, he'd just seemed pleased with himself. At the time, that had been a nice change of pace.

Back when Aizawa first gave him the job, I hadn't been sold. I understood where he was coming from—Matsuda's drive and energy and way of putting people at ease did seem like useful skills for an undercover agent—but he was still Matsuda. Far too often, he ran in without thinking, or executed a half-baked plan without weighing the risks, and putting him in a position where he'd have to make life or death decisions on his own had seemed careless to me. Like letting a child behind the wheel of a car.

But Aizawa had said he thought Matsuda could learnto make smart decisions, and accordingly sent him to a leadership course. He even told me he suspected that side of Matsuda's training had been glossed over at the academy because no one had expected him to amount to much.

Due to the Kira fiasco, no one, not even Deputy Director Yagami, had ever revisited it.

Even though I doubted decision-making was really a learned skill, I'd said, _"You're the chief."_

As usual, my passive answer had prompted him to re-explain himself, all the more thoroughly, and he'd gone on a while, apparently expecting some kind of reply from me, so I'd finally told him, cautiously, though, _"I just wonder if maybe you're making this decision based on emotion."_

_"Explain,"_ he'd ordered, visibly annoyed.

_"You,"_ I'd said, more carefully than ever, _"have a personal interest in his life and career. After everything that's happened, I understand why you want to give him a shot at doing something a little more serious, but it's possible you're setting the bar too high for him, hoping he'll rise to the occasion because that's what he did in the past."_

Aizawa had frowned, thoughtfully.

Earnestly, I'd reminded him, _"Matsuda only rose to the occasion because he got pushed enough that he didn't have much choice. And, for the most part, we were there to watch his back. On his own, though, dealing with dangerous situations which he may or may not take seriously, he could really get hurt. And I don't want to see him get set up to fail."_

At once, the contemplation had turned to outrage. _"I would never set Matsuda up to fail."_

_ "Not on purpose. But if you tell him he can do something, he'll believe it, even if he may not be able to."_

_"He can do it,"_ he'd corrected. _"It's just a matter of learning some new skills."_

That was that, but as I'd expected, his determination had made Matsuda overconfident. For days, he'd strutted around, bragging about how he was going to be just like James Bond from now on, and, to my dismay, Aizawa hadn't done much to curb it.

At least Matsuda had taken the course seriously, compiling stacks of well-organized notes to study from, reading the assigned material on his lunch break, working hard to get a strong grasp on his textbook answers. More than once, I'd heard him mumbling about the qualities of a good leader, so at least he had the academic theories down. I could tell he wantedto succeed.

Those first couple of cases, though, had been rough.

Even with a seasoned partner to rein him in, Matsuda was wild, taking stupid risks, disregarding the rules any time it suited him. His romantic daydreams of fast cars, suave villains, and femme fatales were quickly destroyed when he learned he'd mostly be brushing elbows with drug dealers and pretending to be a junky, so maybe he'd underestimated the perps, causing him to make mistakes that could have easily ruined the operation if someone else hadn't been around to fix it. Aizawa had yelled at him a lot, and that had made the kid anxious. I'd never seen him like that, and I'd assumed he'd power through it with his optimism, never guessing how relentless his anxiety would turn out to be. Before I knew it, he was pestering me, distracting me from my own work to ask questions about the details of his investigation.

I think he'd tried to be subtle about it, sliding into the chair next to mine and casually saying, _"Hey, so, do you mind if I ask you a couple questions?"_ But subtlety was never Matsuda's strong suit. A couple questions had always turned into almost a dozen what-if scenarios, which had never failed to lead to a string of theoretical situations, some more imaginative than others, and if that wasn't bad enough, he'd rattled nervous energy the whole time. Biting his pen, reorganizing his file, unconsciously rearranging the items on my desk, and bouncing his leg non-stop all revealed that he'd been absolutely terrified to screw up even one more time.

Day after day of getting more or less interrogated by Matsuda about hypothetical disasters had started to drive me a little crazy. Most of the scenarios he'd dreamed up were completely absurd, but enough of them were so horrifying to think of him getting into that I'd found myself smoking more, obsessing over some of what he'd said, and wondering what kinds of messed up cases Aizawa was assigning him to.

No matter what I did—whether I snapped and told him to go away, or gave him foolproof advice—he always went off to ask someone else anyway. It had made the whole squad noticeably tense, and a lot of officers had started to simply avoid him altogether. There was no small talk with Matsuda while he was entrenched in an investigation, just like there wasn't an answer anyone could give him that would honestly lay his fears to rest.

When something really bothered him, he took it directly to the chief, and all too often I'd seen him following Aizawa around the squad room, asking the same questions he'd asked everybody else, but having raised two kids, most of Aizawa's answers went to the tune of, "That would never happen, Sergeant," or, "I don't know why, that's just the way it is," like Matsuda was asking him what to do if the moon and Earth collided, or why the sky was blue. Occasionally, I'd seen him lose his patience and snarl, "stop asking questions—you're making me crazy," and plenty of times I'd watched him physically shove Matsuda from his office and slam the door in his face.

Not daring to remind the chief that he'd started it, I'd finally sat down with Matsuda and asked him, _"Why do you want to do this?"_

_"It's my job,"_ he'd answered, miserably.

_ "No, no, I mean why do you want to be undercover at all? The pay isn't any better, and now you've seen it's not the glamorous job you pictured. So why?"_

_ "It was Aizawa's idea."_

_ "I know it was Aizawa's idea. But why did you agree to it? Not…just to impress him. Right?"_

Matsuda had raised his eyebrows at me, like his desire to impress Aizawa was a secret.

Obviously, confessing the true nature of my misgivings hadn't been an option, but I had thought that Matsuda might have realized he wasn't cut out for undercover work after all and just need an out.

_ "Admitting this isn't for you and backing out would be a lot better than pushing yourself and getting hurt."_

He'd rubbed his left arm, where the K still scarred him.

_ "That's what he would say, too, Matsuda."_

_"It's not about that,"_ he'd decided, finally. _"Sure, I don't want to let him down, but I know if he thought I couldn't do it, he'd reassign me. So, it's just…"_ He'd shrugged. _"I dunno, Ide. What else am I gonna do?"_

That, I'd thought, was a decidedly bad reason to do anything, especially something that could get him killed, but he'd been determined, and he'd hung in there, and, finally, after months, it was starting to look like maybe he really could do well at it.

Now, he was gone, and if that was because of something or someone he'd encountered on an undercover operation, I didn't find any comfort in thinking it was all Aizawa's responsibility, I just felt terrible that I hadn't noticed something amiss.

By the time the dawn began to break, there was still no sign of him, so I rolled off the couch, feeling gross, tired, and cranky, to head into the station and find out what my next move should be.

Carrying two cups of coffee, I arrived an hour early, but I couldn't find Aizawa. There was no way he'd slept in on a day when he should be searching for Matsuda, so I asked his secretary about it, and she told me he'd been down interrogating Kazz Akai for the last few hours.

The chief didn't normally handle sordid business like that in person, and I thought if I let him know I was there, he'd ask me to take over, or at least send me in to play the good cop to his bad for a while, but when I stuck my head in the door, he just waved me off without a word, so I went to stand outside the glass, watching him.

It still didn't feel that long ago that he'd sat in that exact same chair, lying to the higher ups about Kira and the death note. What a tumultuous year. After that, it was hard to believe Aizawa had actually gotten the promotion, and I knew he wanted to be the best chief possible, but even now, he still acted like he'd rather do everything alone than send someone else, and I didn't know if he'd ever get over that. Without a doubt, it was a fine quality for a leader to have, and it kept him fit, but it also meant he stressed himself out and beat himself up whenever something went wrong.

After nearly another hour, he finally emerged from the cell, rubbing the bridge of his nose with familiar exhaustion, and the dark circles under his eyes told me he really hadn't slept at all. Again, I felt like a jackass for treating him with disrespect, and the only apology I could manage was to hand him the coffee I'd brought, cold now.

"Thanks," he muttered, gulping it down.

"Did you learn anything?"

Shuichi shook his head. "This scum bag couldn't find his ass with both hands in broad daylight. He gave me some information about the drug trade around town, but that seems to be all he's got."

"Then what about everything he said to Matsu yesterday?"

In a short pause, he drained more of his coffee and wiped his lips with his wrist. "According to him, he's heard Matsuda's name in passing while drifting around the black market, not much else. Even if he _wanted_ to sell him to enemies, I get the feeling he wouldn't know how."

"So…" It was my turn to pause, battling back my fears. "Could it be the syndicate?"

Aizawa shook his head. "I honestly don't know who else would take him without saying something about it."

We both fell silent, neither wanting to say out loud that Matsuda could already be dead, and I studied his face, unobtrusively, concerned by the affect I knew this would have on him; it had started already.

Shuichi Aizawa had always been one of the smartest, hardest working, most dedicated men I'd ever known—when we met twenty years ago, I'd pegged him my future chief, and I'd never felt jealous because I wholeheartedly believed he deserved it—but explosive emotions ruled him. Once he began feeling guilty, it was hard to convince him he wasn't to blame, and it was even harder to watch him disregard his personal needs in the pursuit of making up for his perceived mistakes. I really didn't want to see him start down that dark path again.

"Shuichi." We were alone, so I clapped a hand on his shoulder. "You know…what my favorite thing about getting older and climbing rank has been?"

Hesitantly, he glared at me, as if I offended him by trying to talk about something other than the situation at hand. "No idea."

"We can finally make someone else do all the leg work, while we sit back and call the shots."

His lips puckered with annoyance. "You really don't want to help, huh?"

Last night, it had annoyed me to hear him say that, but I'd been worried, not thinking. "I do," I corrected, coolly. "Tell me where to go and what to do—I'll go do it—give me a team, and I'll turn them into a well-oiled investigating machine."

The frown softened.

"You're the chief," I added, quietly. "Let me find Matsuda for you. I promise I'll bring him back to you in one piece, and you won't have to lift a finger."

Sighing, Aizawa stared in at Akai, forehead wrinkling with worry and thoughtfulness.

"You've earned that, Shuichi."

But then his eyes lit up again, turning ferocious. Hissing in frustration, he suddenly slammed his cup into the nearest trash bin and stomped up the hall, snarling, "Get some of those Shinigami fuckers in here. Beat the shit out of them if you have to. I want to know where Matsuda is _now_."

"You got it, Chief," I murmured, not sure if I'd gotten through to him or not. But it didn't matter; even if I had, I knew better than to believe he'd sit back with his feet up while any of his men were missing.

Slowly, I turned to stare in at Kazz Akai myself. He was low-level, barely anybody, easily broken, but the Shinigami syndicate was loyal to a higher cause, devoted to the cult of Kira, and if they really did take Matsuda, there might not be any breaking them.

Not before it was too late.


	3. Chapter 3

**Sayu**

Despite the sunny weather, everything seemed gray, and I felt hazy. Two days now, and I felt Touta's disappearance taking a toll on me, much worse than the last time this happened. I didn't want to even think that he might be dead, but there was just no way he'd left me like this on purpose.

_Two days is a long time to be missing._

Already, the standard forty-eight hours the police usually gave before they started to think they needed to look for a body had closed.

I stared across the street, into the neighborhood, and beyond, toward the city, trying to picture where he could be without imagining what might be happening to him, and my helplessness ate at me.

"Here you go, Sayu-san," Fuka set a cup of tea down in front of me and stood over me a moment, studying me with maternal tenderness.

Matsuda's sister looked a lot like him, I thought, with a very similar face. Despite being short, she was sturdy, and her gray eyes looked almost blue. In addition, she shared many of his compassionate qualities, and when she learned her brother was missing, she'd invited me to stay with her and her family a few days. I couldn't bear to tear Mom away from her trip, so I hadn't told her yet, and she wouldn't be back until tomorrow.

Anyway, even though she wasn't the type of mother to say I told you so, I knew she'd be thinking it—_this is why I didn't want you involved with a police officer._

But Matsuda being a cop wasn't the problem; the problem was, even after everything Kira had done, evil people existed, and they felt entitled to take what belonged to someone else.

_Way to go, Light, _I thought, bitterly. _You didn't change anything. You wrecked our family for no reason._

"I'm sure he'll turn up soon," Fuka said, gently, and took a seat beside me at the table.

Hollowly, I said, "If he could_,_ he would have done it by now."

"What I mean," she insisted, all the gentler, "is he does this sort of thing all the time. We won't hear from him for months—as a kid, he used to disappear all day, without a word to anyone—and then, right when you think that might be the last time you'll ever hear from him, he just shows up again." She smiled, but as with all her looks, there was a note of utter seriousness to it. "The surprise man."

"No," I grumbled, even though I knew she was trying to reassure me. "Touta would not leave me. Somebody took him."

At the words, her pretty face paled, and she followed my gaze, also staring at the city. Five years older than him, she was pushing forty, and I never saw her without make up, not even now, with her brother missing, Sometimes I felt like the only one who truly cared or even felt genuinely worried about him.

_That's not fair_, I told myself, running my fingers through my tangled hair, and yet, I could hardly stand to get up and get dressed. Each day, though, I told myself, there must be something I can do.

"It's still strange to me," Fuka announced, in a quiet tone. "Even after nearly ten years, it's strange that Touta is a detective. He's never seemed quite cut out for it."

In a way, she was right. Touta had such an innocent, carefree way about him, he really seemed like the kind of guy who should always have it easy, devoted full time to laughter and games, travel, and romance. Hardship looked bad on him, professional pressure turned him into a mess of anxiety, and discipline didn't come by him naturally.

Determination and dedication did, though, and I knew wishing for him to change careers was a waste of energy.

Those qualities, though, wouldn't matter if someone decided to kill him.

_Why would anyone want to hurt you, sweet heart?_

That overgrown boy wasn't hurtful or dangerous or threatening. I'd seen him run screaming from spiders or speaking gently to houseplants, and it seemed like we couldn't as much as run a simple errand without him having to rescue a small child who'd lost their mother. He was sweet, and he was good, pure, honest, and simple.

Then again, though Touta didn't look like he had the capacity to hurt anybody, I knew better than to genuinely think he couldn't. I'd seen him fight tooth and nail, and there had even been a time when I'd believed he'd killed Atashi Rei. In fact, I'd thought that for months before casually mentioning it.

Touta had looked at me with an expression of pure shock and then had blurted out, "I _didn't!_ Miyami did."

But, of course, within his next breath, he'd explained how Miyami had died, I'd seen how conflicted he felt over it, and I knew he thought it was his fault and that even taking the life of an enemy haunted him.

That night, I'd lay in his arms, tracing the scars Miyami tore through his muscle, wondering how his life had taken such a bizarre turn, feeling swept up by it.

After all, I hadn't forgot he'd shot my brother…

To focus too long on that fact would fill me with contempt, so I always shook it away, but it stayed in the back of my mind, especially on the couple of occasions I'd gone to the shooting range with him. He was a phenomenal shot, and watching him fire, it was all too easy to picture how it must have looked when he gunned down Light.

Shuddering, I turned to Fuka, who still studied me. "What made him want to do it?" I asked. Over our time together, I'd gotten inconsistent answers from Touta on the subject. A lot of times, it came around to his telling me that his uncle had known my father, but that was _how_, not _why_, a difference he pretended not to be able to get his mind around. Only once, he'd murmured, with a far-off look in his eye, _"I got tired of being the victim…"_

Adjusting her hair, Fuka sat up straighter. "Oh, I don't know, really. As a kid, he was very interested in detective stories, unsolved mysteries, serial killers. Stuff like that. I guess filling his mind with that junk made him want to live it."

"That seems shallow."

"Touta _is_ shallow," she informed me, like I hadn't been dating him for the last year. "He's always gone through odd phases, this one just happened to stick."

"There must be something to that," I murmured. The Touta Matsuda I knew wasn't shallow at all. Sure, he liked having a nice car, owning an expensive phone, and wearing name brand clothing, but I'd discovered an almost philosophical thoughtfulness to him, buried beneath all that.

"Maybe it was because of Daddy," Fuka said, with a flippant air. Touta mentioned once that his father used to be somewhat abusive to his wife, and as much as that had bothered me, he'd seemed completely desensitized to it, so I didn't know if it had impacted him enough to shape his life.

Fuka went on, in the same tone. "Or maybe it was that he used to get beat up so much."

Surprised, I turned to her. "Touta got beat up in school?"

"From his second or third year in elementary." She nodded. "In middle school, it was pretty bad. He came home roughed up almost every day."

Outrage that had been building inside me for days surged, threatening to blow, and I had to take a deep breath. "Why would anyone hurt Touta?"

"Oh, he's always been weird," she said, and then, seeming to notice my expression, her gaze softened, and her voice whispered, "I've never understood either. Bullies prey on the weak because they can."

"Touta isn't weak." Pushing my chair back, I got to my feet, leaving my tea untouched.

"Well," she sighed, "not to you, of course, Sayu-chan. He's your man."

That he was, and some heartless stranger genuinely thought they could get away with taking him from me.

_Not without a fight._

"I know he'll come back," she insisted, frantic to comfort me, "whether someone took him or not." I watched the gears of her mind turn as she tried to find the right words to set me at ease, even though nothing could. "His boss seems really dedicated."

As far as I knew, Aizawa had taken on the investigation personally, and yet, it simply wasn't enough. There must be something else, something I could do.

Telling Fuka I was going out for a walk, I started up the street, moving quickly, and got out my phone when I'd gone a block or so. Like always, I checked to see if he'd called or texted, but that was just habit.

Nothing.

I dialed Aizawa.

He sounded tired when he answered, but I cut in immediately with, "Did you find anything yet?"

Like always, Aizawa paused. Every day, that pause seemed to get longer, and every day, his voice sounded just a little more disturbed as he answered, "No, Sayu. I'm sorry."

The outrage boiled. "How could this happen? How could you _let_ this happen?"

Again, he hesitated.

"You're the chief of police! How could you let someone kidnap Touta? My dad would never have lost one of his employees!"

"Sayu," he said shortly. "I'm doing everything I can."

"But you're too late! Someone has him _right now_." Tears filled my eyes. "Who knows what they're doing to him? And you don't even know how to get him back!"

I could still feel the raised flesh of the scar under my fingertips, ragged and permanent, marring a life that had deserved to be sheltered, and now, even if I got him back somehow, what shape would he be in?

_Baby…I'm so sorry…_

Aizawa stammered, trying to reply, but I cut across him. "You were supposed to protect him! You know he sucks at looking after himself!"

He drew a tight breath, like it was taking everything he had not to lose it on me, but I wished he would. After all, _I _was the one Touta confided in the most. _I _was with him when he disappeared. _I _must have missed something just like everyone else had. I obviously couldn't expect Aizawa or Ide to be with him night and day.

Unable to fight the ragged sobbing anymore, I screamed, "Everyone else is dead! What do you expect me to do without Touta?"

"Sayu!" he burst, not quite shouting. "I'm going to find him! I promise! I'm going to find Touta no matter what it takes!"

"It's too late!" I gasped, trembling and crying. "What if it's just…too late?"

"No, it's too _early_ to start talking like that. He's out there, and I'm going to bring him back to you just as soon as I can."

Crying, I sank onto the curb, and he stayed on the phone, saying nothing, just listening to me whimper.

When I'd finally quieted down, he murmured, "I know how hard it's been for you lately, kiddo, and I know this must be the last thing you can take, but I also know _him; _he'll do anything it takes to get back to you. You have to believe that, Sayu. You can't give up on him."

"I-I'm not," I sputtered, wiping my eyes with my sleeve. "I just…am so worried…"

"So am I," he whispered, fervently, and I finally stopped sobbing. I knew my brother's death had strengthened the connection between Touta and Aizawa. Touta talked like his cranky buddy had hung the moon, he fretted constantly about disappointing him, and he pushed himself a little too hard to impress him. Though Aizawa treated their relationship with more reservation, I knew it mattered to him. Sometimes, when Touta was really being a dork, I'd catch a glimpse of Aizawa smiling to himself with quiet affection.

I doubted Touta had noticed the depth of those feelings, but hearing Aizawa admit so candidly to his own concerns left me with no doubt that they were indeed very deep. No matter how frustrated I felt with myself, I shouldn't be yelling at him.

Drawing another sharp breath, I finally got myself together enough to say, "Yesterday, you were telling me about the man he arrested on Friday night."

"Kazz Akai," he agreed, grimly. "He posted bail last night."

"What? You mean…he's out on the streets?"

"As I said. But I seriously doubt he has anything to do with this."

"Are you sure?"

"I questioned him myself."

He said it like that was supposed to put all my worries to bed, but my mind raced.

"Try not to worry," Aizawa said in a kind voice, when I'd been quiet a while. "We're putting everything we've got into this."

What a typical thing for the chief of police to say. But then, I wasn't sure what he was supposed to say instead, especially after I'd called up to yell at him and then wound up breaking down into tears. Sniffling, I apologized for the outburst, thanked him, and hung up, but for a long time after that, I sat on the side of the road, considering what I should do.

My sensible side told me I shouldn't do anything at all. I should let the police handle it and try to stay calm; after all, the last time I'd gotten involved in an investigation, I'd caused a lot of trouble, and I'd gotten hurt.

But this was twice as personal as the Reaper case had been. Someone had stolen my fiancé, and Aizawa could think what he wanted, but the only logical thing was that somebody Matsuda had been investigating must be behind it. Maybe not Kazz Akai—even if Aizawa thought it might be him, I doubted he'd tell me so—but it made sense that the place to start was to go through Matsuda's old investigations and look for people with motives. He'd only been on five or so in the last year.

Not having access to police records, I'd wracked my brain for any information Touta might have dropped that could be meaningful, and so far, by process of elimination, Kazz Akai did seem most likely. After all, his previous investigations had been mostly coordinated and executed by a senior detective—Lieutenant Kouhaku Rikimaru—so if anybody from one of those cases wanted revenge, it would be on Riki, not Touta. Kazz Akai, though, and his small-timey narcotics ring, had been Touta's first solo bust.

Knowing the somewhat slipshod even impulsive way my fiancé handled just about everything in his life, it didn't seem impossible that he'd missed something—maybe a connection Akai had, or even a partner who'd come looking to get back at him—and that could be all it would take to land him in this mess.

I had no doubt Aizawa was devoted to finding his missing sergeant. Of course, he'd work around the clock until he figured out where he'd gone. But all the same, he didn't seem to be taking the idea of Kazz Akai being the culprit very seriously, and in my mind, there wasn't a second to waste.

So, I strengthened my resolve, picked myself up off the ground, and reached into the pocket of my jacket, fingering the pistol I'd brought with me. It was Touta's back-up, a standard issue nine-millimeter. The day after he'd disappeared, I'd gone and let myself into his apartment, using my key, and even though I hadn't intended to go there and take the gun, when I'd seen it lying on the coffee table, I'd grabbed it without a thought. I didn't think he was supposed to keep it at home, but there had been plenty of times I'd seen him space storing it in his locker after a long day and accidentally bring it back to his apartment. Having it on me could get me in a lot of trouble, but, right now, no measure felt too extreme.

Finding Kazz Akai wasn't difficult either. Whenever he worked a case, Touta tended to use me as a sounding board, telling me a lot of what he'd learned, what he was doing, where he had to go next, and his investigation into Akai had been the most thorough yet.

_You shouldn't have done that, babe_, I thought, as I got out of my cab and walked up to the diner where Touta had said Akai spent most of his weeknights. _There's a reason you're not supposed to talk about your work._

Mostly empty, the diner was really divvy and small. Nearly all the people inside looked like junkies, strung out, drinking coffee to try and stay grounded, eyes wild.

Seeing how Akai was recently out on bail and probably on probation, I didn't exactly expect to find him there; the best I hoped for was to run into someone who could tell me where he was, but I spotted him in a booth at the back of the restaurant, hanging around with some other druggy-looking losers.

When Touta first mentioned him, I'd taken it upon myself to research him, even checking into his social media profiles, and he was easily recognizable—very tall and barrel-chested, with a dusky complexion and dreadlocks.

_Old habits do die hard._

Smiling and swaying my hips, one hand on the gun in my pocket, I strode toward him, calling out, "Kazz!"

Smiling like he expected someone he knew, he looked up, and the expression barely faltered when he saw me. "Yo…little girl. I know you?"

All his buddies stared too, with obvious interest, nudging each other. My heart started to hammer, but I wasn't about to wait out the tedious protocols and red tape the police had to go through.

"You're about to," I told him, cheerfully, and whipped the gun from my pocket, aiming point blank at his head.

Kazz went stiff in his seat, eyes popping, and all his friends fell silent, freezing also.

I focused on trying to keep the gun from shaking in my grip. I'd fired it, once, with Touta at the shooting range. He shouldn't have let me do that either.

"Touta Matsuda," I growled. "Where is he?"

"Wh-what?" Kazz stammered, and he looked scared to death, skin turning chalky. I imagined it was an odd situation for him.

"Don't play dumb," I ordered, icily. "The NPA officer who picked you up on Friday night."

"M-_mat_?" he wondered, like he could hardly get his mind around what was happening.

"Mat," I agreed. "Where is he?"

"The hell's going on?" one of his friends demanded suddenly. "Who the hell are you?"

"I'm asking the questions," I spat, not taking my eyes off Akai. "Tell me. Or I'll put a bullet in your head."

He opened his mouth wide, but a terrified whimper eased through his teeth.

"Right now!"

"I-I don't know," he breathed. "I-I've been in jail all weekend!"

"So, someone else must have grabbed him, and I think you know who."

"I don't know anything!" he insisted.

"You'll have to do better than that!"

"Th-this is insane!" he whined. "Little girl… I'm a drug dealer! Not a kidnapper!"

"He disappeared right after arresting _you!_"

"That doesn't mean anything!" His face paled another shade. "Please put the gun away! I'll tell you anything you want to know—just stop pointing that thing at me!"

For a criminal, he sure was a coward, and I felt my heart racing all the faster. If he wouldn't tell me, what should I do? Shooting him would do no good. I'd been so sure he'd spill everything the second he saw it, and now if I backed off, they might come after me.

I drew a deep breath. "I'll only ask one more time. _Where_ is he?"

Behind me, then, a cool voice said smoothly, "Excuse me, Miss?"

Automatically, I whipped around to find a man near my age standing close to me. Unlike the other patrons, he looked clean cut and fresh-face, dressed in a dark suit. Behind him, everyone, including the employees, stared at me, horrified, and I felt dumb for forgetting about them and letting someone sneak up on me.

"Miss," the man in the suit said, "won't you please put that away? You're spoiling everyone's dinner." He smiled, gently.

"That's what I'm saying!" Kazz Akai whined. "I'm just trying to eat here!"

"Come now." The man in the suit held out his hand, inviting me to give over the gun.

Nervously, I stared back at Akai and his friends, all of them watching me intently. If I let go of the gun, they might jump on me.

"Nobody has to get hurt," the stranger insisted. "It sounds like a simple misunderstanding."

More intently, I looked at him. With his professional appearance and controlled manner, it seemed like he had to be a cop, maybe here undercover, trying to find Touta. If that was the case, I'd be interfering, and he'd have no choice but to intervene.

_I need to get out of this while I can_…

At last, I handed him the gun.

His smile stretched, teeth pearl white. "Thank you, Miss." He tucked it away, and audible sighs of relief floated up from around the table.

"Sorry," I mumbled, but he just smiled, and suddenly took hold of my arm, carefully, though, and escorted me back to the exit. Behind me, one of Akai's friends whispered, "Crazy bitch."

Outside in the sun, it hit me how dangerous that had been, and I stared, dazed, back through the window, sure I'd see Akai coming after me, but the stranger patted me on the shoulder.

"I'm sure this is all very difficult for you," he said in a soft tone, "but please don't trying anything reckless again, Sayu-san."

I turned to him, gradually, thinking if he knew my name, he really must be a cop. In the sunlight, his hair looked almost red—like Light's had been—and his eyes were green. I couldn't remember ever seeing him before.

"It wouldn't do for you to get hurt," he added seriously.

"I'm lucky you were here," I agreed, thinking of how devastated my mother would be if something happened, and then I felt like an idiot. "You…you're not going to tell Chief Aizawa about this…right?"

The stranger laughed, a boisterous sound compared to his quiet speaking tone. "No, no, I promise not to tell Aizawa-san as long as you don't."

I shook my head. "I won't."

Teeth flashing in a bright grin, he offered me a delicate hand. "Deal."

We shook on it, and then he waited with me a while to make sure I got into my cab safely.

"What's your name?" I asked.

"You can call me Mr. X."

"Then, you're undercover, right?"

Mr. X scanned the area unobtrusively to make sure no one was watching, and his laidback and controlled demeanor made me feel gladder than ever that he he'd stepped in. "Yes, that's right."

Haltingly, I asked, "Then…do you know… I'm just trying to find out where my boyfriend is."

He smiled. "Yes, I understand. But it was unwise to take matters into your own hands."

"Are you here because you think Kazz Akai might have something to do with what happened to him?"

"I think Akai-san made it clear he doesn't know anything," he murmured, in a thoughtful voice. "It's important that you let the police handle this."

"I know," I murmured, feeling stupid all over again.

Mr. X leveled a piercing look on me. "Difficult as it may be to accept, there is nothing you can do, Sayu-san."

I had nearly gotten hurt again, and suddenly it occurred to me how terrible it would be for Touta if he came back from being kidnapped only to find that something had happened to me.

"I'm sorry," I murmured again, bowing my head.

"No need to apologize; just be careful from now on. There are dangerous people out there, Sayu-san."

Shortly after that, my cab came, and Mr. X opened the door for me and even gave the driver money for fare. Judging by how the man thanked him, Mr. X must have given him enough to leave a sizeable tip.

"Well, Miss," Mr. X said, smiling in at me. "You be careful getting home." He patted his pocket where the pistol had disappeared to. "And I'll be sure to give this back to Matsuda-san as soon as I see him again."

"Thank you, Oniisan."

And then he lightly shut my door, gave a little wave, and stood on the side of the road, hands in his pockets, still smiling as he watched us pull away.

**Matsuda**

Pale light stung my eyes, and I shifted gradually on the cold ground, feeling sharp pain blast up my spine, tearing a wince out of me, so I had to lie still a while, trying to make sense of where I was and identify the aching in my body.

Above me, it looked like total darkness, but once I'd been staring through it a while, I noticed the dimly glinting shapes of steel beams and rafters, and then I heard dripping water nearby. My own breath fogged, and I slowly realized I was freezing, my feet felt numb, and every part of me burned.

With another wince, I forced myself to sit up, but it felt like my organs were about to rupture. Panting, I paused to slowly lift my shirt and stare down at the black patterns of bruises mottling my stomach and sides.

"Where am I?"

Ahead of me, a corridor stretched on and on, like a yawning mouth, and I heard the wind moan from that direction, bringing another gust of cold with it. Even to look at it made me shudder hard with fear, but when I glanced back over my shoulder, it was just as bad, the only difference being a pinpoint of bluish light in the distance.

"Hello?" I called, and my voice bounced off the walls around me.

As I stared into the light, something came back to me, a horrifying feeling of being tied down, rough hands gripping me and hitting me, harsh voices grating in my face, spitting on me, sharp knives jabbing my flesh, and my own voice screaming.

Those memories felt similar to a bad dream, though, unclear, difficult to get a grasp on; all I knew was I didn't want to walk back toward the light.

My mouth hurt. Exploring with my tongue, I discovered a gaping hole in the upper left side where a molar should be, and the horrifying feeling of stiff sutures.

Beginning to panic, I stared ahead into the darkness again. I didn't want to go _that_ way either.

_I can't just sit here. No one knows where I am._

Out of reaction, I checked my pockets for my phone, and then looked for my gun, but I didn't even have my wallet.

_All of that…is still at Sayu's…_

No calling for help. My only choice was to stand up, pick a direction, and try to make it somewhere safe.

Gasping through the pain, I climbed to my feet. My shoes and socks were missing. My head swam and throbbed, my legs quivered violently, and my stomach begged for food.

_How long has it been?_

No telling. The fragmented nightmare seemed both short and endless, just a terrifying expanse of pain and hopelessness.

"Let's go, Touta," I told myself. "Nobody's coming to save you."

I began to shuffle down the uneven path of old concrete, limping at the touch of the freezing floor burning against my already wounded feet, and I could hardly walk straight, constantly ramming against the wall, having to hesitate to rub my bleeding head or push hair out of my eyes. With each step, my pulse quickened, and I battled back the fear. Whatever else I did, I could not lose myself to that feeling.

Not knowing what I was running from, not knowing how far I'd been already, I wandered up the hall until I reached a steel door, where a draft of cool breeze spilled in. There, I paused to take a few deep breaths, strengthening my resolve, and then I shoved against it, nearly screaming from the pain the effort caused me.

_Are my ribs broken?_

No. No, I'd know if they were. In fact, nothing seemed broken. I didn't even think I had a concussion. Just a lot of cuts and bruises.

My tongue slipped into the terrifying gap in my teeth again. That should be the least of my concerns, and yet it scared me the most.

Beyond the door, I found myself standing under a towering building, its shape hard to make out in the darkness, and I wasn't clear enough of mind to even guess what it was supposed to be, it just looked abandoned, swallowed by the night.

In every direction, I saw nothing but field, like a black sea, and in the distance, Tokyo gleamed, so far away, it might as well have been on the other side of the ocean.

"Oh my god," I groaned, collapsing back against the icy door, shivering.

How did I get here, kilometers from home, shoeless, coatless, phoneless, battered, and completely alone?

I remembered the guys with guns at Sayu's door, how they'd dragged me against my will to their car and hit me in the head. After that, I think, I'd been in the trunk a while. When I came to again, that nightmare had started, but since then, so much of it had gotten lost, blacked out, possibly, as my mind fought to protect itself.

_They wanted something, though…_

_ Don't pretend you don't remember exactly what they wanted._

The notebook.

The damn _notebook._

Who would want it? Who would even know about it? Why would someone grab me to try and find out about it? Someone without the guts to go after Aizawa or Ide…

They couldn't get to Mogi.

Passing a shaking hand across my forehead, I told myself, _Not now. Figure all that out later._

Hopelessly, I stared across the distance between Tokyo and me, wondering if later was even an option.

Cold wind cut through my shirt as I hobbled across the field, cutting my feet again and again on rocks and debris, and each breath of it felt like a stab in the lungs. The shaking became so uncontrollable, I felt I could hardly walk, but my head cleared some, and I kept my eyes on the city. Even if it took days to get home, I just couldn't give up. Especially not with Sayu waiting for me. Not with someone looking to get their hands on the notebook. Not when my life had finally started to go really right for a change.

The moon hung overhead by the time I reached the road, but a few cars still buzzed along, their headlights disorienting after such a long hike through the darkness; I wandered up onto the ditch, half shielding my eyes, caught between hope and panic that someone might actually stop.

No one did. I didn't feel sharp enough to decide if that was simply because the world was careless, or because it would be stupid to stop and pick up a guy covered in blood. I felt scared somebody _would_ stop. And I felt angry that nobody had so far. I needed to get to a phone, so I kept walking.

What must have been hours later, I arrived on the outskirts of the city, where a lonely gas station stood out in the night, small and empty, just another anxiety-inducing image to me. Go in and use the phone? Would it even be safe?

For a long time, I stood there at the edge of the parking lot, freezing to death, holding myself and glancing from the station, back over my shoulder, not sure what looked more ominous now. Nobody seemed to be after me, but suddenly re-entering civilization made my breathing shallow and my heart race.

But my stomach screamed, painfully, and my throat was dry, and if I didn't get somewhere safe soon, I might be lost forever.

Absently, my hands searched my pockets for my phone, even though I'd learned a thousand times over that it really wasn't on me, and then I made my way, gradually, toward the fluorescent-bright lights.

A small, middle-aged man minded the store, reading the paper, but when I walked in, he stood up, beaming like a happy potato. "Irashaimase…"

As his words trailed away, his mouth fell open, and his eyes bulged behind his thick-rimmed glasses.

"Hello, Ojisan," I murmured, remembering to give a polite bow, but shards of pain jolted down my spine. I winced and then shuddered. "Sorry to intrude. Could I please use your phone?"

Still, he gaped at me, like he couldn't even make sense of what I'd said, and his eyes roved me up and down, from my burning feet to my throbbing eye, horror-stricken.

Terrified he'd say no, I added, "It's an emergency," and licked my cracked lips.

Immediately, he came to life, rushing around the counter toward me and gesturing for me to follow him at the same time. "Yes, yes, Oniisan, of course. Come along." He even reached out to steady me, but I jerked away.

"Sorry," I whispered again, in answer to his startled look.

"Oh, no need to be sorry. Come use the phone." He gestured to the back room. "Call whoever you need."

_Sayu._

If I could just curl up in her arms, everything would be okay.

The shopkeeper showed me into a small office, where a cheap desk sat jammed against the wall, equipped with a landline phone and an ancient computer. Flyers, work ethic posters, calendars, inventory lists, and family photos cluttered the walls, and the light glowed dim orange. It reminded me of Aizawa's office, in that it was the complete opposite.

"Here you are." He nudged me lightly toward the shabby chair, where I plopped down immediately and reached for the phone, noticing for the first time the blood dried on my hands.

Distractedly, I rubbed at it.

_Mine? Or theirs…?_

All the fingernails on my right hand had been ripped off, leaving seeping, red gouges and torn, inflamed flesh, like raw hamburger meat.

I shuddered.

Mine.

Behind me, the shopkeeper stood watching and wringing his hands, anxiously. "Oniisan, don't you want me to call a doctor?"

Waiting on the ambulance and dealing with the paramedics, going to the hospital at all, would take too much time, and all I wanted was to lie down in my own bed, with Sayu.

"No, thank you," I managed to choke out from my dusty throat.

"Are you sure?"

I shook my head, knowing he might call the ambulance anyway. "Sorry for the trouble."

"No trouble, Oniisan," he assured me, with an air of tenderness, and it made me glad I'd come inside rather than wandering in the night. At least I'd found a decent human being. "Is there some way I can help you?"

"Could I possibly get a few bottles of water? I can't pay, but—"

"Of course, Oniisan!" he interrupted, wide eyes looking almost relieved. "I'll bring food, also. What would you like?"

"Nachos," I muttered automatically. I'd been craving nachos for days. "And a Kyokyo Daha…"

"Of course, of course!" Nodding, he flew off before I could say please, and I fumbled with the phone receiver, deciding who to call.

In this situation, I thought, most people would call their family; at least, every missing person's case I'd worked on where the victim was actually recovered went that way. They always wanted their mom, their brother, or spouse.

Anymore, I barely had any of that, and I no longer knew if that was because the Kira case had robbed me of so many personal connections, or if my own rebelliousness had.

Hands throbbing, I started dialing Sayu, but hesitated. I didn't know what time of night it was. Late, I guessed. I barely knew how long I'd been gone—days and days, I thought—I didn't know where I was. I didn't know how to answer any of the questions she would have, and she wouldn't be able to help me much outside of taking me home.

_She doesn't even have a car._

Mine, I vaguely remembered, must still be at her house. I had no idea where my keys were. Sayu didn't know how to drive.

She'd learn trying to get to me.

_Or she'll get in a wreck._

_ God, I want to see her…_

Again, my tongue delved into the gap in my mouth, and my body shuddered violently.

_I need to go home…_

Heart beginning to tear, I phoned Aizawa.

**Aizawa**

Blankly, I stared across my living room. In one hand, I held the photo of Matsuda and Sayu, but I couldn't stand to look at it anymore, so I memorized the patterns on the new curtains Eriko put up over the summer until I knew I'd be seeing them in my sleep, between nightmares about whatever horrible thing must have happened to my sergeant.

After five days of relentless searching, I had no idea what to think. No one had ever contacted anybody with a ransom, and not only did that leave us with a cold trail, it made me surer, every day, that he must be dead.

The thought strangled my heart. Even after interrogating every member of the Shinigami syndicate I could get my hands on, none of them had seemed to know where Matsuda was; most couldn't even guess. One or two had been willing to cooperate, probably in hopes of getting a lighter sentence, but none of the info they'd provided led anywhere.

Trying to imagine motives out of thin air exhausted me and made me feel sick.

What's more, Matsuda was social and vocal, always checking in at places on Facebook, intentionally putting himself in lively situations. Someone must know where he'd gone, so I'd checked every hangout, café, and shop I'd ever known him to frequent, taking the Gojira photo with me. People knew exactly who he was, and over and over, the warm response of, _"ah, yes, Matsu-niisan! My favorite customer. I haven't seen him in days,"_ helped me realize that he was a beloved member of his community who could not have dropped off the face of the earth without anyone noticing.

I'd even had a short conversation with his barber, who'd seemed to know exactly who I was, and had disclosed all the details of how meticulous Matsuda was about his hair, and commented on how strict I was about those regulations, but then he'd admitted, with a sigh, that Matsuda-san was overdue for his monthly trim, and I'd walked out knowing he hadn't been anywhere he was supposed to be since the night he vanished.

Per usual, his family was no help.

His mother had seen him several weeks ago, but he hadn't contacted her since, and she didn't have much to say other than, _"it's just like Touta to worry me to death at the end of my life. I wish he'd never joined the NPA."_ Talking to her annoyed me, and her condescendingly resigned attitude that her child had gone and gotten himself killed due to his own selfish mistakes filled me with contempt. Even if we found him, I wasn't looking forward to speaking with her again.

Other than a few scattered texts over the last couple of months, his sisters hadn't heard from him either. Hana, the older, acted like she could hardly be bothered with it, showing the same attitude as her mother, like it was all stupid, little Touta's own fault. She'd gone so far as to tell me, _"I spent years taking care of my brother, Aizawa-san_. _Now I have my own children to look after."_

I supposed that explained why she'd never shown up when he was in a coma last year. Being that I had no siblings, I couldn't say for sure, but I thought they were supposed to care a little more deeply than that.

At least hi other sister, Fuka, showed some concern. Solemnly, she'd asked me to keep her informed, and she'd probably be the one I reported to when this was over. I'd really rather never speak to his mother again, if I could avoid it.

Sayu called every day to ask if I'd found anything, so at least I knew if she heard from him, she'd say so, but her words from a few days ago still ate at me, reminding me, that, somewhere, despite my caution, I'd failed.

Ide kept reminding me, there was no proof so far that anybody had taken Matsuda, let alone that he'd died in the same awful manner that Chiba had, but it didn't matter. When I watched Ukita collapse outside the TV station, nearly seven years ago, I'd made myself a silent promise that I wouldn't let Kira kill Mogi or Matsuda. Working with L had disrupted our chain of command to some degree, but Soichiro Yagami had never lost sight of his duty to us, and that had inspired me to always bear in mind that, no matter what happened, the other two were my subordinates, which made it my job to keep them safe.

After nearly losing all three of them during the Reaper case, I'd accepted my promotion because I'd thought it would give me the resources I needed to defend all my men, but it had only intensified the desire to do what was best for them, just like it had increased my sense of guilt when I couldn't.

Eriko came in and set a glass of water in front of me on the table, and then sat down, quietly, beside me. In a moment she reached over to gently pull the photo away from me, turning it over in her hand and murmuring, "Cute kids," even though she was only a few years older than Matsu.

"Did Yumi and Tomiichi finish their homework?" I asked, tiredly.

She nodded.

"Good."

Tomi was young enough to still be excited about school, but anymore, Yumi showed more interest in Facebook, her social life, and extracurricular activities than her academic career. Since Matsuda disappeared, I hadn't been much help on that front, and I worried it would send Eriko and I spiraling back into the same, tired disagreements we'd been having for the last seven years.

Anger festered inside me as I remembered I hadn't been able to spend time with them last weekend.

_Someone took my sergeant…and now they're stealing my time as well._

"How long are you going to sit up looking at this picture?" Eriko wanted to know, but her voice stayed extraordinarily soft. "You can't find him this way, Shuichi."

"You're right," I agreed with dull aggravation. Every moment spent sitting on the couch added to the weight of my guilt. "I should be out looking."

Gently, my wife clasped my hand and sighed. "You should try to get some rest. It's past midnight."

At least she'd been understanding so far. Any time I so much as tried to apologize, she'd say, _someone you care about is missing. You don't have to be sorry._

But I'd been going at a dead run for the past five days, barely home, never seeing her or the kids, never calling, and as genuine as it might be, I didn't know how long she could keep up being supportive.

"I don't see how I can," I muttered. Even though there were no leads to chase around in my head, I couldn't simply shut off my mind and ignore the fact that Matsuda was gone, or the horrible dread that stole in when I considered that there might not be any getting him back.

_Even if you're face down in a ditch somewhere…I can't give up until I find you._

My breath hitched at the image, and I clenched my fists.

"You're no good to anyone when you're exhausted," my wife scolded, mildly. "Especially not Touta."

Helplessly, I looked into her sweet eyes. "I don't know what else to do," I admitted. "Sitting up worrying is all I have."

"Who's assigned to the case?" she asked, even though she knew already.

"Hideki and Rikimaru. Komagata. Maeda. Kaneko. A few others."

"All good detectives."

"Yeah, of course, but—"

"You're the chief, Shuichi. I know it's personal, but it's not your job to find him."

With a sigh, I leaned back into the couch, unable to help feeling irritated.

Hideki had basically said the same thing; I guess they both thought being the boss meant I should always pass my work off onto someone else and do as little as possible. Well, too bad. When Hideki had brought it up, it had taken all of me not to snap and remind him that if _he_ ever disappeared, I would turn, not the city, but the world upside down trying to find him, so he had some gall to suggest I not exert a fraction of that effort on Touta.

Of course, Eriko had no concept of the how bad it would damage morale in my squad if one of our own disappeared and the chief could still go home and get a perfectly good night's rest. No, being the boss didn't let me off the hook, it made the expectations for me that much higher.

Biting back my anger, I muttered, "I'm not looking for Touta because it's my job, babe." I was doing it for all the heartache, guilt, and devastation it would cause me if he lost his life on my watch, if Sayu lost her life with him while I slept, if I didn't put every fiber of effort I had in me towards saving him.

"I know you care about him," Eriko assured me. "That's why I think you need to get some sleep. He needs you to be at your best."

I'd thought I was doing my best, but he'd still gotten taken away.

"How could I let this happen?" I murmured. "He can't have just vanished. I must have missed something, I just don't see how."

"Stop that. This isn't your fault, and it isn't fair to punish yourself."

"I'm not, Eriko, but I'm the chief." I shut my heavy eyes, just for a moment. "If someone was after one of my men, I should have noticed."

Sayu, at least, agreed with me on that, and she was right that Soichiro never would have lost one of us. He'd known how to balance his personal concerns with his duties as the boss, he'd run a department of eager, ambitious detectives, and now I ruled over the remnants of everything he'd built, unable to even keep my men safe. More than that, I couldn't keep my friendssafe. There was no passing the responsibility of that failure off on anyone else.

Again, I considered the unwavering confidence Matsuda had shown me before he vanished.

_Maybe he didn't even realize someone was out to get him, _I thought, tiredly._ That would be just like him._

I couldn't imagine him having any true enemies; even the Kira fanatics, if they knew him—really knew him—wouldn't be able to hate him.

_You're too good, kiddo. I won't give up on you._

My phone rang, and I opened my eyes, only to find that Eriko had thrown a blanket over me and must have slipped off to bed, leaving the house dark, aside from the lamp next to me.

Yawning and rubbing the bridge of my nose, I checked my phone, but I didn't know the number. My guts flopped. After all, it wouldn't be a solicitor calling me at two in the morning.

Prepared to deal with a ransom demand, I flipped my phone open. "Chief Aizawa."

Following a pause, a weak voice choked, "Oh… Hey, Ai. I didn't think you'd be awake."

"Matsuda!" I jumped from the couch, automatically pacing around, looking for a way to trace the call even though I didn't have one. "Oh, my god, where are you? Are you all right? What happened?"

Sounding dazed, he said, "I…don't really know…"

"All right." I stopped pacing, trying to compose myself and think clearly. "All right. We'll figure it out. Right now, just tell me where you are. Can you do that?"

My pulse raced. If somebody kidnapped him, he could only be calling to relay their demands. They definitely wouldn't let him tell me where he was.

But Matsuda muttered, "Yeah, hold on," and then shouted, "Excuse me! Ojisan! Sorry. What's the address here?"

I listened hard to the indistinct voice that answered him, but it only fluttered for a moment, and then Matsuda sputtered an address at me.

"Hang on, wait." I fumbled for paper and pen. "Say that again."

He repeated the address twice, like he was scared to forget it, and I jotted it down, though I was familiar with the general location—some frontage road out north of the city.

"Good, good. Are you safe?"

"I…think?"

"Good. Stay there. I'll be over as soon as I can."

"'Kay," he said tiredly. "Just…hurry. Please."

"Relax." I grabbed my coat and shoes. "I'm already out the door."


	4. Chapter 4

**Ide**

* * *

I gripped my door tight as Aizawa blazed through yet another red light. We'd been driving a while already, getting close to the outskirts of the city where the traffic flowed lightly, and he was speeding like a madman. "Slow down," I suggested. "He said he's safe, didn't he?"

"If he was safe, he'd be at home, not out in the middle of nowhere."

I jammed my fingers through my disheveled hair. I'd been tossing and turning when he called me, on the verge of sleep, but I felt wide awake now, watching him whip past cars and fly around corners. "We won't be much help if we roll this thing."

He merely huffed, mashing the gas pedal.

I understood his urgency—Matsuda saying he was safe might not mean anything if he'd been kidnapped, and I was suspicious of the way he'd contacted Aizawa in the middle of the night to explain where he was—if we didn't hurry, our opportunity to get to him could slip through our fingers.

Nevertheless, I insisted, "We need to be smart about this. It could be a trap, and there are only two of us."

"Rikimaru and Kaneko are backing us up."

He said it matter-of-factly, as if I should know that already; I couldn't help giving him a frown. "You could have told me that."

"Sorry," he grunted. "I thought I did."

When he'd burst into my house, practically shouting in my face, he hadn't said much that made sense, dragging me away so quickly, I'd barely had time to get dressed let alone say goodbye to Kei.

"I guess he found Matsuda," she'd yawned, sitting up in bed. "Want me to come?"

"Just go back to sleep," I'd told her, as Aizawa yanked me out of the room by my collar.

Now I wished I had asked her to come, but it hadn't occurred to me until we were burning down the road at a hundred kilometers an hour that this might be a trap.

My gun only had ten rounds, and, in his frantic state, I didn't know if he'd had the presence of mind to bring his. It was lucky he'd thought to pick me up.

A trip that should have taken thirty minutes took less than twenty with Aizawa behind the wheel, and before I knew it, we were pulling into an empty but well-lit gas station.

"I thought age would make you a better driver," I grumbled, getting out of the car and taking a good look around.

Not so much as a taxi fueling up.

The spring night had turned cold as it settled, and a mild but persistent wind blasted across the land. On every side, an expanse of disquieting black surrounded us.

Eyes open for danger, I stepped tentatively toward the building, and Aizawa came around to march beside me. I was relieved to see him racking his gun back before sliding it into its holster.

Inside, a lone shopkeeper faced merchandise with shaking hands. He all but jumped out of his skin when Aizawa threw the door open, face pale, like he'd seen a ghost. "Irashaimase…" he squeaked.

I guessed we didn't really look like police right then, me in my t-shirt and jacket, Aizawa in an old sweatshirt that I'd thought he'd given up on years ago. It always seemed to reappear when he was caught off guard, but the fabric hung loose where strapping muscles used to stretch it, and it looked just a little too tight across his middle. Not the flattering, dignified way people would expect to see the chief of police.

Nonetheless, he announced, in a commanding voice, "We're looking for Touta Matsuda," and we both scanned the bodega.

Rinkydink and small, the place appeared to be empty. Some of the lights flickered, annoyingly, and the handful of aisles were short enough that I could see over them, all the way across the building, from the coffee station in the corner, to the no-doubt horrifying bathroom by the front counter.

I relaxed and dug for my photo of Matsu even as Aizawa described, "Young guy, average height, last seen wearing a white dress shirt with—"

"Oh!" The shopkeeper pressed his hands to his chubby face. "Yes. Over this way."

Without hesitation, Aizawa followed him across the room, and I fell into step behind him, still watching for any sign of an ambush, even though this would be a strange location and way to go about it.

Sitting in a broom closet-turned office, we found Matsuda finishing off a tray of nachos. Several empty water bottles sat with him, and he had one of those disgusting energy drinks he liked so much.

Staggered by my relief, I leaned heavily against the doorway. Not a trap after all. He was really here; we'd found him.

With a deep breath, Aizawa stepped toward him. "Touta…thank goodness…"

Matsuda turned to us, slowly though, and stiffly, a wince already riding his busted lips.

"Holy hell," I breathed.

He looked _bad._ Barefoot, best dress shirt torn and stained with blood and dirt. Black and blue all over, his face was swollen, eyes bloodshot. Oxidized crimson streaked his hands from gashes on his knuckles and fingernails that looked like they'd been torn away, and he clutched his side like it hurt.

For all that, though, he greeted us calmly, with a casual, "Hey, guys," and checked the clock on the wall. "Wow. You made good time."

"Matsuda," Aizawa gasped, shambling to him, one hand hanging in the air like he was scared to touch him. "Oh, fuck… What happened to you?"

With a deep sigh, Matsuda leaned back in his chair and stared up at the ceiling. "I don't really know… Some guys grabbed me at Sayu's."

Conflicting, my emotions clashed together—disbelief, guilt, and rage—and I found myself clenching my jaw, grinding my teeth in an effort to control myself. "What the hell'd they do to you?"

Matsuda gestured to himself, like that explained everything. "It wasn't any fun," he muttered, and then looked up at the chief. "I really need you to pay for all this." He waved his hand at the food and empty drink containers. "And then I really, really need you to drive me home."

"_Home_?" Aizawa squawked, like it was the most absurd thing he'd ever heard. "Somebody kidnapped you and tortured you, and you want to go _home_?"

"I'm so tired," Matsuda complained, rubbing his eyes. "Yeah. I just want to go home."

"You should probably go to the hospital," I told him.

"Yeah, maybe tomorrow. Right now, I want to go home."

It sounded like he intended to stick with that; we stood over him frowning. Obviously, this wasn't the worst-case scenario, but still, finding him in this dump, holed up in a stifling, little closet, all beaten to hell, was horrifying enough. I tried to think of a way to talk him into going to the hospital, while Aizawa turned on the shopkeeper. "What do you know about all this?"

The man's eyes widened. "I-I was minding the shop when your friend wandered in and asked to use my phone—"

"Did you see where he came from? Any suspicious vehicles?"

"No… I was reading the news—"

"Is there security footage we can look at?"

"Easy, Shuichi," I muttered. "Nobody's on duty here."

"I'm _always_ the chief of police," he snapped, glaring down at me, and then at the shopkeeper again, who looked twice as nervous now. To my chagrin, he produced his notepad and pen. "Let's start with your name. How long have you worked here? Do you own it?"

"M-my family owns it. I've always worked—"

"You must be familiar with the area. Can you—"

"Aizawa!" Matsuda lunged forward in his chair to snag Aizawa's wrist. "Take me home!"

Aizawa whipped around to stare down at him, mouth still open in the middle of his next question.

Eyes wide with desperation, Matsuda choked, "_Please_? I-I just want to go home."

When his shock had passed, Aizawa muttered to me, "Give us a second."

Still staring at Matsuda, I shrugged, and then turned for the door, while the shopkeeper scurried out ahead of me, no doubt happy to evade the chief's interrogation.

From my place outside the office door, I watched Aizawa and Matsu.

"Relax," Aizawa said, in a much softer voice. "Let me see." He took a moment to look the kid over, first touching his chin to tilt his head from one side to the other, wincing like the cuts and bruises he saw hurt him too, and then examining his injured hands. "Are you hurt bad? Bleeding? Anything broken?"

"I don't think so." Matsuda lifted his shirt, revealing deep purple bruising on his abdomen and ribcage. "This is probably the worst."

"Goddammit," I cursed under my breath, rage bubbling again. Somebody really kicked the shit out of him.

With a deep sigh, Aizawa studied him, and then went so far as to lay a hand on his head, but only for a few seconds. "I'm taking you to the hospital."

Matsuda drew a sharp breath, moaning immediately and touching a hand to his injured torso. "I really want to go home."

"I know, kiddo, and I promise I'll take you home as soon as I can, but you need to go to the hospital."

"No," Matsuda argued faintly. "I think I'm okay."

"You don't look okay."

"You look like hell," I called.

"Yeah, but I'm not bleeding or anything, and I think my insides are okay," Matsuda insisted, in his flippant way.

"Touta." Aizawa crouched in front of him, looking earnestly into his eyes, as if dealing with Tomiichi, and Matsuda looked back at him accordingly, with the same trust and naiveté of a child. "Come on. Please let me drive you to the hospital. It's not a big deal. Really."

I could remember a time when he hadn't been that way, but since he'd shot Kira, he really had an issue with us fussing over him, possibly because he perceived the two of us as being so superior, or possibly because he didn't believe he was worth it, and his typical response to any concern was to say, "don't worry about me," even in dire need.

"Seriously, Matsu," I prompted, trying to match Aizawa's professional level of stern compassion. "Don't be stupid."

"Everyone's been really worried," Aizawa added, quieter than ever. "We're glad you're alive. We want you to stay that way."

Those words seemed to get just the right point across, and Matsuda finally mumbled, "Okay, fine."

A smile quirked on my lips.

On nights like this, watching Shuichi speed recklessly or unapologetically question suspects, abrasive as a charging bull, and then suddenly turn around and reveal a gentle side most people didn't even realize he had, I couldn't help but remember what a great guy he was, and all the things he'd done to earn the high regard I held him in.

Even on the day we'd confronted Kira, he'd had compassion left over to show Light. Being a cop and working the most impossible case ever conceived hadn't annihilated that, the people he cared about kept him grounded, and as long as he stayed that way, I'd never stop following him.

Matsuda rose to his feet, automatically latching onto Aizawa's sleeve as he fought to keep his balance, and Aizawa looped his arm around his waist. He paused to hand him off to me, doing a doubletake of my face while he was at it. "You okay?"

"Yeah." I wondered what kind of expression I must be staring at him with, and took Matsuda from him so I could change my focus. "Just tired."

"Just tired," Aizawa echoed, like he'd heard it a thousand times before, and then, for some reason, he patted me on the shoulder. "Me too. Hang onto him, and I'll be right back."

With that, he marched toward the register, where the shopkeeper watched us at a distance, twitching like a nervous cat.

Sighing again, Matsuda rested his elbow on my shoulder to lean heavily against me. I couldn't help telling him, "You don't have to be so tough for him. We know you're a big wuss."

"Taniki-tan," he said in a sing-song voice, "nobody acts tougher for Ai than you do."

I rolled my eyes and snorted, but then squeezed the knotted muscles in the back of his neck, thinking I couldn't wait to get my hands on the dick holes who did this to him. Then we'd see who was tough.

* * *

**Matsuda**

* * *

After putting me in the back of the car, Aizawa and Ide waited for back up to arrive, standing by the hood, speaking too lowly for me to hear, so I knew they were talking about me. I could only hope it was useful information, maybe even clues about where I'd been.

Before long, another cruiser pulled in, and I watched, head rested heavily on the cool window, as Riki and Kaneko climbed out, lights filling the parking lot with red and blue, while the shopkeeper stood in front of his door, wringing his hands. I felt bad for him. After he'd helped me, I wished Aizawa hadn't treated him like a suspect, but I'd been too spaced out to even try to tell him how sure I felt he couldn't be. Now that I was thinking about it, I wondered if I should say something.

Riki and Kaneko rapped with Aizawa a moment, shooting worried glances at me, and then nodded.

Kaneko stepped up to tap on my window and grin half-heartedly at me. "Hey, Matsu. Glad you're okay."

"Thanks, Kani," I murmured back, struggling to smile.

"Osake is on me next time," he added, striking out with Riki to finish questioning the shopkeeper, and the little potato man was starting to look terrified. I'd completely screwed up his night, but then, I couldn't expect Aizawa to ignore his involvement either, not if he wanted to get to the bottom of this, and, at the moment, just about anybody could be the perpetrator.

My eyelids grew heavy, threatening to close, but I kept them open, staring through the darkness, watching for danger, while anxiety tightened my chest until I felt like I could hardly breathe.

_Who did this to me? And why?_

Finally, Ide climbed in on the driver's side, muttering to himself, "Probably safer for me to drive," and Aizawa got into the passenger's seat, simply huffing, "You are such a nag."

Simultaneously, they twisted around to study me, barely hiding their obvious worry, and Aizawa handed me another bottle of water. "You all right, Sergeant?"

"Mmhm." I downed some water. Even after drinking two whole bottles, I couldn't get the dusty feeling or the taste of blood out of my throat, and my tongue explored the gap in my teeth relentlessly.

"Hang in there," Ide said, starting the car and pulling around the lot, back onto the road. It already seemed like hours and hours ago since I'd trekked up from that direction, and no matter how hard I looked, I couldn't get so much as a glimpse of the ominous building I'd crawled out of.

The car's gentle movements made me feel sleepier than ever, though, and I finally drew a deep breath and let my eyes shut. I knew I should tell them what little I could while it was all fresh in my mind—especially the part about the notebook—but I felt exhausted.

_I'll tell them everything. Just as soon as I get some sleep._

When I opened my eyes again, we were pulling up to the hospital, and seeing it tower over me brought back a firestorm of horrible memories, from Sachiko telling me to stay away from Sayu, to sitting in the back of an ambulance, watching Mogi die, and then waking up here myself when the case was over, delirious and plagued by nightmares.

"Man, I hate this place," I muttered.

"Nobody likes it," Aizawa assured me, coming around to help me out of the car. "You'll be home soon, though, so let's just get this over with."

Sandwiched between the two of them, I hobbled into the waiting room, where handfuls of sick and injured people watched a TV on mute. There were more here than there had been before, and that meant a longer wait.

The guys sat me down, and Aizawa went to collect the admission forms, but he didn't bother suggesting I fill them out myself, and I listened dully as the two of them put their heads together, bickering about things like my weight and age.

"He's thirty-two, right?"

"No, he's only thirty-one."

"That can't be. Remember? He turned thirty-two back around Christmas."

"Unbelievable. You don't know how old your favorite is?"

"He's not my favorite… And that's not part of my job."

"Just put down nineteen eighty. A year or two doesn't matter."

"Is this how you fill out your reports, Captain?"

While they went at it, I rolled back the tattered sleeve of my shirt to study the K Miyami had carved into my arm, horrified to find that somebody had ripped it open, not as deeply as the original, but almost exactly on top of the old one, so that the pale lines of the scarred flesh barely outlined the vile red of the new slashes.

I chugged some water, just to combat the sudden urge to throw up.

Next to me, the bickering subsided, and I chanced a reluctant glance at the two of them; they stared back at me, eyes serious and thoughtful.

"You're thirty-two, aren't you, Matsu?" Aizawa asked in this really delicate voice, as if afraid the words might cause more damage.

"Yep." I tried to smile just to show them I was all right, and quickly jerked my sleeve back over the wound. "Thirty-two. And I'm allergic to amoxicillin.

Nodding, he muttered to Ide, "Told you," and then draped his jacket over my shoulders. I felt his fingers muss the back of my hair and heard his pen scrape against the paper again.

Still freezing, I settled back on the bench, closing my eyes and focusing hard on the familiar sounds of their voices just so I wouldn't have to think about anything else.

"Do you want to call his mother? Or should I?"

"I'll do it."

"I know you don't like to deal with her."

"Believe me, I won't be on the phone with her for long."

Pausing, Ide lowered his voice. "I'll call Sayu, but…I'm not sure what to tell her exactly."

"Just keep it to the point."

"What I mean is, I won't be able to answer any of her questions."

"I can't either, but…" Aizawa drew a long pause, and then finished, dismissively. "She'll be down here within the hour anyway."

It felt like years since I'd seen her, and the idea that I'd actually get to hold Sayu in my arms in less than an hour felt unreal.

Lower than ever, Ide asked, "Did you see his arm?"

"I'm sitting right next to him."

"You don't think…?"

"We won't know anything until we question him," Aizawa muttered, and got up to go turn in my paperwork.

Ide sighed, and I heard him call Sayu. "Hey, it's me. We found him."

Very hard, I listened, trying to make out the shrill sound of her voice, sputtering from the receiver.

"He's okay. We don't know very much yet, but we're at St. Luke's, if you want to come see him."

Inevitably, I pictured Sayu flying around her house, already preparing to dash out the door.

_Soon._

"All right," Ide said. "See you in a bit." He hung up, and then leaned over to give my shoulder a gentle shake. "Sayu's on her way."

"Good," I murmured.

Not long after that, I was admitted, and that was the worst part yet.

After being imprisoned for god knows how long, I wasn't in the mood to be examined and prodded, photographed by investigators, asked strings of questions about how some of my injuries had come to be there, and in most cases, I didn't really have answers, just blurry images of getting beaten, kicked around, and yelled at.

The stark lights of the emergency room sucked me back deeper into my nightmares also, reminding me of the blue pinpoint I'd seen when I came to in the abandoned hall, a small, blank room, and a dark man standing over me with a hypodermic needle. I still saw his ruthless smile and heard his icy voice whisper, _"Get the notebook."_

Staying focused on the present was hard, especially with the cold undercurrent of fear flowing relentlessly through me, but passing out wasn't an option anymore. It scared me too much to consider where I might be when I woke up.

When it was finally all over, I felt exhausted and irritated, and all I wanted was to see Sayu and then go home to sleep. Aizawa came in and stood at my bedside, and I had nearly had it with looking so weak in front of him.

"So, it seems like you'll be okay," he said with a tentative smile.

_Physically anyway._

Tonguing the gap in my mouth, I stared longingly at the door, hoping for Sayu to appear at any second. "When do I get to go home?"

"Soon. Maybe tomorrow morning."

I frowned. "I thought you said this wouldn't take long."

"I don't remember saying that."

"I don't want to stay the night here."

Aizawa nodded and said in a tone of deep understanding, "You were kidnapped, Matsuda. I think the doctors just want to keep you under observation for a few hours."

Suppressing a sigh, I flopped back in my pillow to stare up at the white ceiling, and I wished I could simply close my eyes and wake up in my own bed. "How long have I been gone?"

"Five days," he said at length.

Long time. Remembering might be the only thing that could solve the mystery of where I'd been, but I didn't know where to begin.

I looked up at Aizawa, hating the worried way he studied me.

"You looked for me, right?"

His eyes widened. "I'm surprised you even have to ask me that, Touta."

"In person, though, right? _You_ were out physically looking for me."

"Touta," he snorted, but quietly. "Yeah. Of course. For five days, that's all I did."

For the first time, I pondered his red-rimmed eyes and faded sweatshirt. The way he tended to make everything his own problem, I knew better than to think he could have done anything other than look for me. Same with baggy-eyed Ide, in his weird jacket.

"Did you find anything? Any clues? Leads?"

"You disappeared without a trace."

"And no one ever contacted you? No ransom note? No phone call?"

Gradually, his eyebrows drifted low, but not so much in the usual annoyance; more thoughtful, almost confused. "Are you interrogating me, Matsuda?"

"No," I mumbled, somewhat sheepishly. "I just want to know what you've figured out since somebody took me away at gunpoint last week." Against my better judgment, I added, "You haven't asked me anything so far."

Gesturing to the room around us, he explained, "I didn't think it was appropriate."

"Somebody stole five days of my life, Aizawa—"

"Exactly why you need to rest," he cut in, firmly. "We'll figure it out later."

"Later might not even be an option if—"

Ide knocked lightly on the door and popped in, carrying a bag of fast food. Wide-eyed, he glanced between us. "Hey. You two aren't arguing, right?"

"No." With a final, stern look at me, Aizawa snatched the bag from Ide's hands, and tossed me a hamburger. "Eat, Matsuda. And then get some sleep. We'll figure it out tomorrow."

Brushing me off like always. I told myself not to let it go so easily, but the enticing smell of burgers and fries made my stomach grumble all the louder, and I couldn't remember the last time I'd had fast food since I started taking my health a little more seriously. I unwrapped the hamburger and crammed half of it in my mouth with just two bites.

"I couldn't remember if you like Makku," Ide explained, setting the drink and fries on the table next to me. "I just figured food is food right now." And then he turned to Aizawa, murmuring more seriously, "The director's looking for you."

Aizawa glanced at the door. "He's _here_? Why?"

"I don't know exactly." Ide faced the door as well. "I think we're about to find out."

Between bites, I suggested, "Maybe he's here to get to the bottom of what happened to me. Since you don't seem interested."

"Matsuda," Aizawa scolded mildly. "Enough."

A second later, the director arrived, knocking politely on the door and bowing, as he said, "Please excuse my intrusion."

Still focused on my hamburger and battling my irritation with Aizawa, I barely glanced up at him. Tall and wire thin as always, his iron gray hair didn't match up with his young-looking face. He wore the usual black suit and a laidback smile, more like an undertaker than the NPA director.

"I hope I'm not interrupting," he said as he entered, two lieutenants on his heels. One was Asahidake… I didn't remember the other's name. They hung back while he came to hover over me with a gentle look. "How are you feeling, Touta?"

I did a double take of him; my mouth was full, so I just nodded.

"That's a relief." He gave a shallow sigh and wiped at his brow. "We're all glad to find you safe and sound."

Maybe if I hadn't been eating I might have blurted out that I didn't _feel_ especially safe or sound, or told him how much I wanted to go home, but I gave him another jerk of my head.

Next, he turned to smile around at Aizawa and Ide. "You two, would you mind giving us just a moment of privacy, please?"

Ide eased toward the door, eyes on Aizawa, but the chief stayed. "I'm sorry, sir, but I'm sure whatever you have to say to him you can say in front of us. You don't mind, right, Sergeant?"

Out of simple frustration, I thought about telling him to go, but I didn't really want to lose sight of them completely, so I muttered, "No, that's fine."

"Well." Director Boko frowned at Aizawa. "Chief, we had a few questions…"

One of Aizawa's bushy eyebrows etched upward. "Excuse me if I'm frank, sir, but I didn't expect you to come and handle that sort of leg work yourself."

Boko's eyes widened and his smile slipped away, face taking on an expression of complete gravity. "But of course, Chief. I'm taking it very seriously that one of my men was kidnapped and incurred physical and emotional harm."

"No doubt, sir, but I can assure you I'm handling the investigation in person."

"With all due respect, Chief Aizawa, you have something of an emotional involvement, I think."

"That may be, but nevertheless, Director…" He shot an appraising glance at me. "He's tired. Agitated. I don't think this is the best time to question him."

"I'm not agitated," I protested. "Ask me anything you want." After all, if I wasn't going to get to go home, I might as well start trying to figure out what had happened to me.

I set my hamburger aside just to show them how serious I was.

Aizawa frowned at me, but Boko turned to me, smiling again. "There's a good man. Your sense of duty is commendable, Touta. I'm sure it's already been a trying evening for you, but I do appreciate your cooperation." Despite his gentle tone, there was, as always, a cold level of professionalism to him.

"Sure." I shrugged. "What's up?"

Drawing up a chair, Director Boko sat down and leaned forward, gazing gravely into my eyes. "This has been a terrible ordeal. Your chief and the squad have been highly concerned—as have I—so let me start by saying, again, I'm glad you're safe."

"Thanks." I smiled.

"That being said, I do need to know what recollections you have of the past five days."

"Not much." I forced myself to wade back into the memory-nightmare again. "Some guys grabbed me at my girlfriend's house around eight-thirty on Friday night."

"Terrible. Ah, Sayu Yagami, correct?"

I nodded, wondering, for the first time, what everyone thought of me dating the former deputy director's daughter. People had always sneered about my attachment to Soichiro, and if he was alive, they probably would have chalked it up to trying to become part of his family. Of course, now they laughed about my being Aizawa's favorite. Who cared what they thought?

"I didn't get a very good look at any of their faces, but they had guns. They put me in the trunk of a car. I'm not sure where they took me." I thought about the building I'd woken up in. I'd have to go back there, I guessed, as much as I didn't want to, and see if I could find some answers. "I don't remember very much after that, but they had me detained. They were questioning me for information."

"What sort of information?" Boko wondered, and I noticed one of his men taking notes on his phone.

I hesitated, realizing I couldn't disclose anything about the notebook to the director. Automatically, I shot a glance at Aizawa, but he shook his head, as if to say, I _tried_ to get you out of this.

"Just some stuff about Kira," I admitted finally, pushing matted bangs from my eyes.

"That business again," Director Boko grunted. "Can you be any more specific?"

Not…really… They just had the normal questions—who was he, how did he kill, stuff like that."

"And did you give them any answers?"

Again, I thought back. What _did_ I tell them? "I'm not totally sure," I admitted. "A lot of it is blurry."

"Of course. Can you tell me anything more about your detainment?"

"Um…" I suppressed a shudder as I thought back, but although everything felt fuzzy, something horrible seemed to reach for me, out of the darkness, like a monster just out of sight. "I must have been unconscious for a lot of it. I don't remember."

The director sat up straight in his seat, and as he studied me, I felt like his sharp, black gaze could see right through me.

Across the room, Ide tried to catch Aizawa's eye, but the chief watched me, frowning all the deeper.

"Are you sure, Touta," the director asked softly, "you were really detained for five days?"

"No, not really. I mean, I think so, but there are so many holes." Again, I remembered the man standing over me with the hypodermic needle, and the long, bleak coma that had followed, the shock of waking up again, gasping for breath, not sure where I'd been. "But I think so."

With a sigh, the director sat back in his chair, straightening the legs of his slacks and took a long pause. "I'm going to be very honest with you, Touta. Is that all right?"

"Yeah," I said, even though my heart started pounding. "Of course. Sir."

"Earlier today, we received an anonymous tip that several bodies had been discovered in an abandoned building. We don't know very much about the victims at this point, though the evidence indicates that they were connected with the Shinigami syndicate we've been trying to shut down since last year, and they were killed with NPA standard issue ammo."

Aizawa jerked like he'd touched a live wire. "Director—"

Louder, Boko informed me, "Your DNA was found at the scene, Sergeant. Including your pistol, with your fingerprints on it."

"What?" I blurted, when my surprise had passed. "You're saying…you think I killed someone?"

"I don't know what happened, Touta," he said, still in his unwaveringly smooth voice. "I'm asking you to tell me."

Desperately, I tried to think back again, but it was suddenly impossible to hear anything over the sound of my pulse. "I don't know what happened either," I said, somewhat frantically.

"Yes, I see." Nodding, he got up. "In that case, you'll have to do your part to help us get to the bottom of this mystery. I would like you to come back to the station with me now so we can conduct the rest of the debriefing in a more appropriate location."

"What?" I gasped, glancing around at Aizawa and Ide's alarmed expressions. "I…I'd rather not, sir."

"Director," Aizawa started again, voice hitching, "with all due respect, this isn't exactly the time."

"I've already spoken with the doctor," Boko informed him coldly. "He's well enough to be discharged, and it concerns me that Sergeant Matsuda doesn't seem to have a very good recollection of what's transpired over the last few days." Earnestly, he looked down at me. "You see the problem here, don't you, Touta? As long as these uncertainties linger, it's unwise to leave you unattended."

What a polite way of arresting someone. You can't remember killing a bunch of people, so you should be detained.

Then again, he might be right.

While I stared down at my bandaged, trembling hands, I did suddenly remember gunshots—five of them—and Light crying out in pain. _I haven't forgotten…that I'm dangerous._

"Director Boko!" Aizawa half-shouted, "I'm sorry, sir, but this is—"

"Enough, Aizawa," Boko interrupted sharply. "You and I have had plenty of discussions about this. The Kira investigation is over, and I expect you to start acting like a chief."

Outraged, Aizawa glared at him, and I noticed Ide clenching his fists and grinding his teeth, watching the chief with apparent nervousness.

"Do you duty, Chief," Boko commanded.

After that, they gave me a moment to change back into my sweat-reeking clothes, stiff with blood, and then they escorted me through the hospital, Boko marching in front, his two men on either side of me, grasping my arms, and Aizawa and Ide trailing after. I felt like I was in a dream.

As we were crossing through the lobby, Sayu suddenly burst through the entrance, loose hair flying as she noticed me and ran my direction. "Touta! Oh my god!"

My heart leapt.

Hardly aware of Boko and the others, she threw herself into my arms, starting to cry, gasping over and over, "Oh, my god, I was so worried! I was _so_ worried! Where did you go?"

"It's okay, Sayu. I'm all right."

I got a few seconds to press her tight against my chest, but not long enough to smell her hair or look into her eyes or really appreciate the warm, safe feeling of being in her arms, before Asahidake grabbed me roughly and shoved me forward, growling, "Walk, Sergeant."

Sayu's hand slipped from my fingers, and I hated the look of hysteria and pain in her teary eyes.

"It'll be okay," I assured her, making my mouth smile, despite the feeling of broken glass rattling in my stomach.

A sob tore out of her. "T-Touta…"

"See you soon."


	5. Chapter 5

**Aizawa**

* * *

"I don't know how much more he can take," Hideki murmured, and he'd already smoked half a pack of cigarettes. I'd only helped a little.

Outside the same cell where I'd questioned Kazz Akai just a few days ago, we stood by, watching an Internal Affairs lieutenant interrogate Matsuda, the exact sight I'd dreaded since he first pulled the trigger on Kira.

Bitterly, I thought of how hard I'd tried to keep this from happening. I'd lied to my superiors, I'd risked my own career, I'd let myself be threatened and detained. After a year of things running smoothly, I'd fooled myself into thinking it couldn't happen now.

"Let's try this again," Lieutenant Saito said, for the dozenth time. He was a brawny man, and tough, trained to detect and exploit weakness, and well-known for always ferreting out the truth, the same man Internal Affairs always sent when they suspected a cop might be dirty.

"Okay," Matsuda breathed, slumped forward, ragged hair hiding his face from view.

Boko stood in the corner, hands clasped, still, silent, and observant as a funeral director, and again, his presence through all this just went to show that we were in deep trouble.

"Sit up and look at me, Sergeant!" Saito snarled. "Do you think this is a joke? Three men are _dead!_"

Mumbling, "Sorry," Matsuda made an effort to sit up, but he clasped his bruised ribs. Hideki happened to have a pair of shoes in his car that fit the kid okay, and I'd given him my police academy sweatshirt so that he didn't have to go around in the bloody, tattered rag that had once been his best dress shirt. Drowning in the faded cotton, he looked fragile, seeming to have shrunk, and the dark bruising and cuts stood out on his pallid face.

"Now, let's try again," Saito repeated, straightening his tie and leveling a flinty look on Matsuda. "You sayyou were abducted, but I find the gaps in your memory just a little too convenient."

"Why would I make that up?" Matsuda husked.

Saito snarled, "I'm asking the questions, Sergeant."

"Sorry," Matsuda said again, quieter than ever. They'd been at it just a little over two hours, and he looked ready to snap.

Non-stop, I'd been trying to think of a way to get him out of this, but running on a mere fifteen hours of sleep over the last five days, my mind was too foggy to think of anything, and it wasn't as simple as charging in and demanding that they put a stop to this.

"I know you're familiar with the Shinigami syndicate." The interrogator paced the length of the table. "They tried to kill you last year. Didn't they?"

"Yes, sir." Matsuda rubbed his scarred arm, forcing me to remember that some sicko had ripped it open again, and that was the kind of thing that must hurt more psychologically than physically.

I needed to get him out of there.

"Did you know they still had a presence in the city?"

"No one tells me much of anything," Matsuda mumbled. "I guess…yeah, I knew some of them were still out there."

"You little liar," Saito sneered. "Who do you think you're talking to? I know damn well you requested that the chief assign you to help clean them up. But he said no, am I right?"

Helplessly, Matsuda turned to the glass. He knew I was out here, but I wished I could at least look him in the eyes, try to reassure him things would be okay.

"Hello?" The interrogator slammed his hands on the table, giving the kid a bad jolt. "I'm talking to you."

"He-he said I wasn't ready," Matsuda admitted.

"I'll bet that pissed you off, didn't it, Matsuda?" Saito laughed, rudely. This was twice as rough as my interrogation had been—I knew it would be—and I'd even begun to wonder if I could interfere based on that alone.

No. Saito wasn't stupid; as an internal affairs officer, he knew exactly where the line was and how close he could toe up to it, and as long as he didn't touch Matsuda, I had no grounds to get in his way.

_But the notebook is involved, and if it seems like that information might be compromised, I don't dare stand by doing nothing._

"You've been doing so well with your small-timey narc busts, haven't you? I'll bet you thought you were ready for something bigger, didn't you?"

"I-I just do what the chief tells me," Matsuda insisted.

"More lies! Everyone knowshow out of control you are, the kinds of unmitigated risks you're willing to take to solve a case, the protocols you're willing to breach to get your man, the arrogance of taking matters into your own hands."

"Matsuda…" I muttered, rubbing the bridge of my nose. "Dammit."

I had no idea anyone was ever going to try to really use that against him, let alone internal affairs.

Not quite true. Boko had talked to me extensively, in various meetings, over the past year, about Matsuda's lack of conduct and his fears that I was neglecting my duty to rein him in over personal feelings. I'd known it could turn out to be a serious problem.

As much as I'd tried to stress the seriousness of that situation to him, he'd never seemed especially worried, his promises to do things by the books had been lip service, and I knew the nature of our relationship contributed to that slackness.

_I should have been harder on him. I should have disciplined him for negligence and insubordination. I should have been so mean that no one would even dare whisper at the water cooler about how he's my favorite._

I'd put too much value on his trust in me and my affection for him.

_He shouldn't even be on my squad if that's how I'm going to act._

No more. After this, I was going to kick his ass into the right gear, even if that meant he started to hate me.

"Let's get down to brass tacks," the interrogator decided. "You weren't really abducted, were you, Sergeant?"

Blankly, Matsuda gaped up at him. "What?"

The interrogator laughed and sneered. _"What_? Oh, you're so naïve it's almost cute, little guy. C'mon. Level with me. Nobody abducted you. That's all just a front because you took it upon yourself to go after the Shinigami syndicate."

Finally showing some indignation, Matsuda slammed back in his chair, gesturing to himself. "So how do you think I ended up like this?" He waved his right hand, showing off the bandages wound over his ripped off fingernails. "I didn't do this to myself!"

"Of course not." Saito smiled. "Maybe it came to a fight. Maybe they honestly detained you a while. The point is, you went after them_._ You took your little gun, pretended to forget your shoes and coat, and went looking for trouble. Because you're a big shot investigator now, and you thought you were entitled to that."

"That's ridiculous!" Matsuda cried, sounding close to panicking. "Those people wouldn't just detain me—they want me dead!"

"He's breaking down," Ide muttered in my ear.

All along, I'd known he wouldn't be able to handle this. He'd done better than expected keeping classified info under wraps, but we had to face facts—under pressure, Matsuda tended to lose himself to emotions, and after spending the last five days going through, apparently, hell, there was just no way he could hold up.

Normally, I thought, internal affairs wouldn't dare mess with him right now, and that meant this must be Boko's play at finding out more about the way the Kira investigation had ended.

_I have to find some way to get him out of there._

Taking a long moment to study Matsuda again, Saito sat, casually, on the edge of the table, near him. In a gentle, almost fatherly tone, he asked, "Why is that, Touta?"

"I don't understand." Matsuda heaved a breath.

"Oh, come now. I know this is difficult, but I'm trying to help you, and it would be much easier if you'd tell me what this…" he waved a meaty hand at Matsuda, "is all about. Why wouldn't Chief Aizawa put you on the syndicate investigation? Why do they want you dead?"

"I killed their boss," Matsuda muttered.

"According to the official report, Akki Toyoshi killed himself. But some of the things he put you through prior to that… I can't help but wonder why."

"Me too. But I didn't go after them." He sat back in his chair, arms folded, like he honestly believed he'd gotten the better of that exchange, not realizing he'd let something valuable slip. "That would be crazy."

"It would be crazy," Saito agreed and got out a pack of cigarettes. He took his time tapping it against his wrist and then slipped one into his mouth before offering them to Matsuda.

"I don't smoke," the kid told him, still with an air of triumph.

"Smart." The interrogator sat gazing at the ceiling, and then went on, friendlier, "Listen, Touta, you're tired, I'm tired. Wouldn't it be nice if we could both go home soon?"

"That's all I want," Matsuda muttered, hanging his head.

I remembered how tightly he'd caught onto my wrist, how desperately he'd asked me to take him home, and how scared he'd looked.

_After this…I don't know if I can kick his ass into gear…_

He shouldn't be my subordinate.

After all, when I'd promised myself I wouldn't let Matsu or Mogi die the way Ukita had, and that I wouldn't allow any of my subordinates to be tortured the way Chiba had, I'd only been thinking as a commander. That should have been the extent of my feelings, for the rest of my career.

But then, as a commander, I wouldn't have appreciated seeing any of my men in this appalling situation.

"Help me make sense of this," Saito invited. "If you didn't go after that syndicate out of revenge, why would someone else abduct you, hold you for five days, and release you? They must have wanted something from you."

"I guess…" Matsuda studied the table, and I detected nervousness in his body language, from the way he bounced his leg, to the way his eyes darted.

"How about you tell me what that was, and then maybe I can convince the director to let you go home."

In the corner, Boko gave no indication that he was listening.

"Bullshit," Ide snarled, a little too loudly. "They think he killed those people, they're not letting him go home!"

"How did everything get so screwed up?" I wondered, and realized a second later I'd asked it out loud.

"At this rate, we'll never know," he huffed.

Matsuda might tell me. He'd wanted to tell me at the hospital. I'd ignored him—I'd thought I was doing what was best for him—now I regretted that.

I'd had no idea the director was going to show up and take him away just a few hours after I'd recovered him.

For that matter, I'd had no idea the men found dead in Tsurumi the other day had been killed with an officer's pistol. Ide's team was investigating, since the victims had been syndicate members, and I'd trusted them to handle it. I'd been busy looking for my missing sergeant. My friend.

_I shouldn't have taken his disappearance so personally. I should have known the NPA would take advantage of the situation. I should have seen this coming._

"Shuichi?" Ide called my name, like he'd said it a few times. "You don't think he actually killed those people, do you?"

Matsuda had killed enough of Toyoshi's men for me to know it wasn't outside his realm of capabilities, and I couldn't even say I'd be shocked if he got frustrated with me and went after the Shinigami syndicate on his own. What I couldn't ignore was that somebody had hurt him. Somebody had questioned him. In my mind, if nothing else, he'd killed them out of self-defense.

"Touta, you know," the interrogator insisted, still employing a much friendlier tone, "if you have information that puts you at risk, you'd be smart to tell me. For your own protection."

Lowering his gaze, Matsuda simply shook his head.

Saito cocked his head, trying to see into Matsuda's eyes. "You told the director it had to do with Kira."

"Yeah…"

"Chief Aizawa made it more than clear last year that he didn't think you would be capable of answering any questions about Kira."

I drew a sharp breath. Every choice I'd made in the last year suddenly felt like a mistake.

"Acute trauma, I believe, were his words exactly. He seemed to think you wouldn't be able to so much as grasp the situation, so why would anyone capture you for that information? What were they asking about?"

Matsuda shook his head again. "I don't remember."

"Not at all?"

"They just wanted to know more about him."

"And did you tell them? No offense, Sergeant, but it looks like they put you through the ringer. Something might have slipped out. Is that why they let you go?"

"I don't remember if they let me go," Matsuda corrected.

"You think you fought your way out?"

"Maybe… If I killed some…it seems possible."

"So you _did_ kill them?"

"That's what you keep telling me."

"Then was it the Shinigami syndicate that abducted you in the first place?"

"I'm really not sure."

"Touta." Saito sounded frustrated again. "At this rate, we'll never get to go home."

Scared, Matsuda stared up at him, a helplessness descending over his face, and he blurted out, "I don't know what to tell you! I've answered these questions over and over! I just don't know what you want me to say! I don't remember killing anyone! I barely remember the last five days at all! I can show you where I came to again, but I'm not sure what happened between that and Friday! I don't remember what they really wanted, other than they just wanted to find out more about how Kira kills!"

"That's dangerous information," the interrogator told him, sternly. "No matter what else may have happened, if you let something slip about that, you really need to tell someone."

Audibly, Matsuda gasped and suddenly clamped his mouth shut. Sitting back in his chair, he shut his eyes, wincing, like he knew he'd made a mistake losing control of himself. "I don't know what I told them."

A long pause passed, and then Saito sighed. "Unfortunately, Touta, that brings us all the way back to square one. Three men are dead, and you can't give me any explanation as to why."

"Because I don't know!" Matsuda shouted in a strained voice, sounding miserable. "I don't know anything you're asking me!"

"Well." The interrogator observed him with a cool expression. "Maybe we'd better just start over then. See if we missed something."

"Oh my god," Matsuda cried, suddenly falling forward to rest his face in his hands. "No. No! I can't. I'm so tired. I just want to go home! That's all I've wanted for _days_! I just want…to go home…"

"Fuck this," I snarled, slamming my fist against the window. "No. Fuck. _This."_

"Shuichi," Ide hissed. "What are you doing?"

"Fuck this," I muttered again, storming toward the door, where Asahidake stood guard. "Fuck this so hard."

Nervously, Asahidake watched me approach. I saw the way he steeled himself, ready to fend me off, but I rammed against him without warning. "Move your ass, Lieutenant._"_

"Sir!" he bleated. "You can't—"

"I'm his fucking _chief_!"

With that, I kicked the door open. The interrogator whipped around, and Matsuda jolted upright in his seat again, staring disbelievingly at me, but Boko hardly glanced my way.

"Out," I snapped at Saito. "Out. _Now._"

"Chief," he said reproachfully. "This is an internal affairs matter, and you know it's necessary for us to get to the bottom of—"

"Yes," I snapped. "I know. You're doing a piss poor job, and I've about had it with watching you drag your feet."

Huffing, he looked at Boko, and the director told him, "Take a break, Saito."

"As you wish, sir," he agreed sourly, and turned for the door.

Once he was out, I took his seat across from Matsuda, staring fiercely into the kid's terrified eyes.

"Aizawa," he choked. "I—"

"Chief Aizawa," I corrected, picking out a cigarette from the pack the interrogator had left behind, and then I took my time lighting it and drawing a few breaths, calming myself before plunging into what I knew I had to do. Mentally, I apologized to him.

"Chief." Matsuda sounded close to breaking down. "I can't… I don't know… I'm so—"

"If it's that bad," I growled, "that important for you to go home, maybe you'd better just tell me what I need to know."

Painfully, I thought again of the way he'd caught onto me at the gas station, begging me to take him home, as if it was the only reason he'd called me. He trusted me. If I wasn't careful, I could damage that.

Matsuda stared at me, taken aback. "What are you talking about?" he hissed. "Of course it's important for me to—"

"In that case, you can start by telling me what it is you're hiding."

"I'm not hiding anything!" he yelled. "It's like I keep saying—I don't remember!"

"So you say," I agreed, coldly.

"It's the truth! I don't know what else they want me to say!"

"Is it really the truth, Matsuda?"

"Of course it is!" His eyes flashed. "You trust me, right?"

"I do trust you." I let my voice harden. "And I've warned you and warned you about investigating behind my back. If I find out you defied my orders to go after the Shinigami syndicate by yourself, I'll take your badge and have you thrown in prison."

Face blanching, Matsuda lowered his head, and his shoulders started to shake. "I didn't," he whispered. "I didn't… I swear, Chief. I didn't. I was just trying to have a night in with Sayu. I didn't mean for any of this to happen."

I focused, hard, on my cigarette, struggling to maintain my composure and keep a straight face, but I couldn't help wondering, if I'd listened to him at the hospital, could I have shielded him from this?

Not, I realized, if Boko had heard about the men killed in Tsurumi and made a conscious decision to use it against us.

"If you expect me to honestly believe you, Sergeant, you have to give me something I can work with."

"I'll tell you anything," Matsuda practically sobbed. "Just tell me what you want me to say!"

Boko and Internal Affairs might mistake his impulsiveness and recklessness for insubordination, but I knew Matsuda would do anything I asked him to, and in this grim situation, his miserable response that he'd tell me anything sounded about the same to me as when he'd smile and say, brightly, _"Anything for you, Chief."_

Even on those occasions when I'd tried to rein him in, tried to explain why he needed to be more careful, he always acted like he wanted to do whatever I told him, it was just all too easy for him to lose track of where he should be and what he should be doing. I didn't believe he deserved punishment for that. Discipline, sure, but not this.

"If you didn't go after the syndicate, you really were abducted, correct?"

"Like I said, Chief. I opened the door, they stuck a gun in my face, and threw me in a trunk. That's the last clear memory I have!"

A minute too long, I dwelled on that. As he'd said in the hospital, those bastards stole five days of his life; they either pushed him to commit murder, or they'd framed him. And I would be damned if I let them get away with that.

Meanwhile, Matsuda rattled on in a drained voice, the same tired answers he'd been giving for the last two hours, and I remembered all too well how that felt, like drowning, knowing it wasn't enough, terrified of what would happen if the truth came out, scared to think about what might happen to me if it didn't.

"Be that as it may, I'm not sure why anyone would abduct you."

He hesitated a long time, and then finally met my eyes, looking hurt. I needed to be very, very careful finding a balance between giving Boko a convincing show and not saying anything to upset Matsuda.

Too bad deceit and delicateness had never come naturally to me. If I'd thought of it, rather than impulsively storming the box, I would have sent Ide in.

But then, Boko might not have dismissed Saito and let my fixer take over.

"I don't know either," Matsu husked, after a long pause

"Sergeant, I've had it with your lies. I almost feel sorry for Saito, sitting in here for two hours, listening to your pathetic excuses. Tell me _why_."

Dumbfounded, Matsuda stared a long time at Boko.

"Hey." I snapped my fingers. "You want to go home, right? Talk to me."

"If I tell you," he practically whispered, "will you really let me go home?" I didn't know if his hopeless tone hinted at a loss of trust in me, or if he'd started catching on to what I was trying to achieve.

Either way, if I made him a promise, I'd better make damn sure I could keep it.

"I promise, if you help me sort this out, you're going home."

"I'm not the only one who knows about Kira." He fidgeted with the fraying sleeve of my sweatshirt. "But…they'd never take you or Ide…right? I think they took me because they knew I'd crack."

A dismaying thought, in and of itself. Based on what he'd said about waking up injured and unarmed, in an abandoned building, it seemed like they'd simply finished with him and dumped him off. But, that didn't explain how they'd know to go after him rather than me or my captain. Some big piece of the puzzle was missing, and Matsuda might not have it.

"Who were they?"

"If I knew," he choked, "don't you think I'd tell you, Aizawa?"

"Then, at least, you have to tell me what they wanted."

"I-I can't though…" His voice cracked like he was about to start crying. "I can't. I swore I wouldn't disclose that information. So did you."

"That doesn't matter anymore."

Skeptically, he glanced at Boko again, and then took a long look at the one-way mirror, no doubt wondering who else might be out there, listening.

"Hey," I growled, but not as harshly as before. "I'm your chief. I need you to tell me the truth, and whatever comes of that…" I drew a deep breath. "That's my problem."

"It's not, though, because we all decided together that we couldn't talk about any of this."

Stubborn, little ditz.

"You were really drunk when we had that conversation," I pointed out, lowly, and leaned in closer, so Boko wouldn't overhear. "Maybe you don't really remember what we decided."

"I'm not stupid. I know…" He glared toward Boko. "And even if I didn't… _H__e_ had you locked up in here for three days, trying to get this information."

Good kid. Not doing himself any favors, though.

"Chief," Boko called, casually. "If you're going to whisper secrets to your sergeant, I may have to leave this to Saito after all."

"Come on, Matsu," I said, still very quietly. "Trust me."

Breath hitching, he muttered, "They wanted to know how Kira killed. That's what they were really interested in."

The most dangerous piece of the puzzle.

"What did you tell them?"

All at once, he started babbling, in a semi-hysterical voice. "Everything, obviously. Anything I could think of. I told them about all of it, and…and you can think whatever you want, but you don't understand, Aizawa!" Panic lit his eyes, and I knew we were spiraling in the wrong direction. "You have no idea what they did to me! You don't know what it's like to be _me_ in the first place! You'd just bite your tongue off and die! That's why they didn't take you. But I'm not tough—"

Smoothly, but briskly, I cut in, "That's exactly why it's so important for you to provide full disclosure. If there are criminals out there who know something dangerous, we have to take action as soon as possible to make sure we don't have another Kira crisis on our hands."

That got him. He froze, staring at me with his mouth still hanging open, clenching his bandaged fists as the realization crashed over him, and behind me I heard Boko shuffling, anticipating the answer.

"So, let's hear it," I prompted. "What did you tell them?"

"I told them," he rasped, defeated. "I told them about the notebook."

Boko crept forward.

"Notebook?" I repeated. "What notebook?"

"Kira's notebook." With every word, his voice sank, and he stared at the mirror again.

"I don't understand. What significance is a notebook?"

Matsuda glared at me, and I knew I was starting to piss him off. "That's how he killed," he grumbled. "A shinigami brought it to our world. Kira just had to write someone's name in it and picture their face, and that person would die. That's what I told them. And then…they must have let me go."

It took every bit of willpower I had to contain my emotions, not to smile, not to reach out and touch him, not to heave a groan of dismay, not to curse under my breath. Instead, I just said, "Thank you, Sergeant," and got up.

"Ai…" He grabbed my wrist again, weaker than he had earlier, but he looked at me, more desperately than ever. "You promised I'd be able to go home."

"Yes." Stiffly, I faced Boko. "I did promise."

The director stared incredulously at Matsuda. "Chief, excuse me if this sounds indelicate, but the sergeant is overwrought."

"I agree. He shouldn't be here like this." Gently, I pulled out of Matsu's quivering grip. "Time to let him go home."

"What I mean is, it appears it's been too much for him."

"I have no doubt," I grated out, biting back the urge to snap at him. "It has been. He should be resting. At home."

"After all, you can't expect me to believe—"

"I don't have time to care what you believe. With all due respect, _sir._ The four of us have come damn close to dying to protect that information, and now it's in the hands of the kinds of people who'd do this." I jerked my thumb at battered Matsu. "Whatever else might be at the bottom of these circumstances, we have to find out who he told that to, and take preventative measures."

Still, he studied Matsuda.

"Interrogating him further won't help."

"And the three men who died?" he asked, distractedly, still thinking about the notebook, I assumed.

"I don't know," I admitted, and glanced back at Matsuda.

"I don't remember killing anybody," he said faintly. "I don't remember anything."

"There you go." I threw my hands up and then rubbed the bridge of my nose. "My concern is, if these people somehow got their hands on the notebook, it's entirely possible they used it to kill those men, as a test." I saw no sign that Matsuda was being controlled by the notebook, I just wanted emphasize to Boko the urgency of this situation and stop him chasing the wrong leads.

He didn't look completely convinced, though, so I added, "I believe him, Boko. More importantly, even if he killed them, it had to be out of self-defense."

"That does make the most sense," the director murmured.

"Holding him while he's in this condition is inexcusable. So I think you'd better let him go home."

Still, he tapped a finger, thoughtfully, against his lips.

"If you have more questions about Kira, I'm right here, though, detaining me at this point would be a mistake, as it's now my priority to contact L and start sorting out this mess."

"Yes…" he murmured, and then finally looked into my eyes. "Yes, of course. You're right, Chief. Unfortunately, as long as Matsuda is the prime suspect in a multiple homicide, you must understand it would be imprudent for me to let him walk out of here."

Behind me, Matsuda whispered, "Oh, my god…"

My mind scrambled for a way to keep my promise. "I'll take responsibility for him."

Boko's eyebrows knit together.

"There must some mistake, I'll stake my career on it."

"Your career?" Boko echoed.

"If I'm wrong, fire me. Incarcerate me too. Just don't put him in lock-up tonight, and I won't let him out of my sight until we've figured all this out."

His lips curled in a faint frown. "That's…bold…Shuichi."

"Chief Aizawa," I corrected. "And when you gave me that title, I made it clear—Ide and Matsuda are part of the deal, or I walk."

* * *

**Ide**

* * *

The ride back to Aizawa's house was unnervingly quiet. Already it felt like a full day had passed since we found Matsuda at the gas station, and everyone's nerves were shot, our energy sapped. Eyes closed, Aizawa sat rigidly in his seat, and I'd barely seen him move since we climbed into the car; Matsuda lay curled up in the back, huddled under both our coats, trying to sleep. On the eastern horizon, the sun already turned the sky pale, and I could barely keep my eyes open.

Chucking my cigarette out the window, half-smoked, I muttered, mostly to myself, "We should have told the director about the notebook a long time ago."

Shuichi jerked like I'd woken him up, but sputtered immediately, "It wouldn't have made a lot of difference."

Honestly, I didn't understand how he could say that now that both he and Matsuda had been interrogated by their own superiors for that information. Boko had made it clear tonight that, despite backing off, he still fully intended to get all the answers. Being that he was our boss, it left us in an impossible situation

Watching Aizawa question Matsuda had been unexpectedly difficult, knowing the kid was probably too dense to understand what he was doing, knowing Aizawa was willing to betray his trust in order to free him. Staking his career on Matsuda's innocence didn't alleviate any of that, it simply made him look more desperate, and that desperation stemmed from our knowledge of the notebook in the first place.

Of course, we should have known the director wouldn't let it go so easily—not only did he have a duty of his own to fulfill, I supposed he must have politicians breathing down his neck—he couldn't ignore the fact that a clique of his men was actively keeping details about the biggest criminal case in history from him, not even if he wanted to. I liked to think that if we'd told Boko the truth a long time ago, we could have passed the responsibility off on him and been done with it.

"I hope we can trust Boko," I grumbled, "that's all."

"It doesn't matter," Aizawa sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "As far as I know, the notebook is safe right now—Mogi would have said something if it weren't—but obviously someone is after it, and whether Boko knows it exists or not, it's still up to us to secure it."

"I don't see why," I snorted. "I think we have other things to think about." I glanced in my rearview at Matsuda, but I couldn't tell if he was asleep or just too drained to move or speak.

Aizawa decided, all too easily, "It's tied together. Whoever did this wants the notebook, so when we find them, we'll be able to…" He paused, finishing somewhat sardonically, "bring them to justice."

I nodded and blinked hard, but the road looked blurry to me. I couldn't stop thinking about my own bed, where Kei still slept, and how much I wanted to get back to my place, crash out, and forget all this for as long as I could.

But Aizawa said, "I think the first thing we should do is contact L. He needs to know about this. After that, we can start looking for clues."

"Right."

"We don't have much to go off right now. I guess, when he's better rested, we can find out more about what Matsuda knows, if anything. He probably at least has an idea of a place to start."

I cracked a wry grin, "That's if he feels like answering any more of your questions."

He shifted uncomfortably, and stayed quiet for the rest of the drive.

As I parked in front of his house, I felt dead tired. "Maybe I'll just crash here tonight," I muttered, torn between wanting to go home, and the desire to just shut my eyes and leave them that way.

"You might as well," Shuichi agreed, clambering out. "We have to get started bright and early."

I sighed, deeply. "It's already early, Shuichi."

The sound of Matsuda's door clattering open made me jump, and he muttered, "Yeah, I'd go home if I were you. You never know when you just won't get to."

"At least you're not in lock up," Aizawa reminded him, as they sauntered up the driveway. "Or still being interrogated."

"Maybe if you'd taken me home when I asked you to, I'd be there right now."

"Boko has your address, smart guy."

Sighing, I got out too, stretched my arms, and followed them. If I tried to drive home, I'd probably pass out and wreck anyway.

Inside, Eriko had left a single lamp on, and the three of us shambled, quietly, through the house and into the living room, where I dropped onto one of the couches without a thought. Crashing with Shuichi had been pretty routine during the first few years of my career as a detective. Plenty of times, after spending ten or twelve hours on a stakeout, the most sensible thing to do had seemed to be buy a six pack of beer, pick up a pizza, and go to whoever's apartment was closest.

Since he'd gotten married, it didn't happen as much, and yet it still felt like second nature to watch the familiar sight of him wandering around, trying to figure out how to be a halfway decent host, collecting pillows and blankets, mumbling, "Hungry? I doubt there's anything to eat. Want water? You know where the faucet is, I guess…"

As always, it made me glad he'd gotten married. Without a smart woman in his life, a workaholic like him would starve to death in a filthy shack.

Come to think of it, during the Reaper case, Shuichi had crashed with me for the first time in more than ten years, and as normal as that had always been, it had suddenly felt awkward to be the one scrambling around trying to figure out what the hell to do, while he stood in the doorway, wrinkling his nose at my place like he still thought I'd die in a filthy shack. He'd muttered, _"You really need a someone in your life, dammit."_

And I'd answered, dryly, "_My name's not dammit."_

That night, we'd been too exhausted to make it much further than my place, but I thought things were getting better since then. I had a woman in my life, things had calmed between Eriko and him, I'd made captain, and he was the chief. What more could either of us ask for?

Well, of course, there was always more to ask for and ungraspable goals, dreams, but if nothing else, I was worried to lose the progress we'd made.

_It's not _that_ bad,_ I told myself.

Shuichi chucked a pillow at my head, drawing me out of my thoughts. "Everyone go to sleep," he said, like he was talking to his kids. "Tomorrow might be just as shitty as today."

On the other couch, across from me, Matsuda huffed, without opening his eyes, "Not possible."

Aizawa and I exchanged looks. We were used to Matsuda being tirelessly optimistic, and in the absence of that, neither of us knew what to say, let alone how to reassure him.

"We'll get it figured out," I said, finally, though I seriously doubted I was qualified to take on the role of the sunny guy.

Matsuda suddenly sat up, rubbing his head. "I didn't kill those guys. I know I screwed up with telling them about the notebook, but if I killed someone…I'd remember, right?"

"Don't worry about it," Aizawa advised. "I know you didn't. All that…shit at the station…was just a misunderstanding."

Anger and hurt evident on his face, Matsuda frowned up at him. Through the Kira case and beyond it, they'd forged a bond of trust, but that shouldn't surprise me. Being a rookie at the time, of course the kid had been looking to everyone around him to see how it all worked, constantly pushing himself to do better so he could keep up with us, and even turning to us for reassurance in the face of all his doubts.

Aizawa had adapted to that easily and probably without thinking too hard about it. His natural leadership skills meant he was apt to take on the role of a mentor anyway—albeit, a somewhat impatient one—but besides that, he'd told me, long ago, in his vague, understated way, that he'd joined the NPA to protect the weak.

After Light turned out to be Kira, and Matsuda fell apart, I hadn't been surprised to see the old, overprotective side of Shuichi reemerge to circle the wagons, fending off outsiders, struggling to protect someone he sensed needed his strength. Someone he cared about.

Neither of them had done it on purpose, and by all accounts, there was something slightly dysfunctional about it. Nevertheless, I knew Matsuda expected Aizawa to always fill his mentor role perfectly, and tonight, when he'd betrayed him, only for moment, even for a good cause, I'd seen plainly on his face how it left the kid reeling.

"I'm sorry," Shuichi said, simply.

Matsuda snorted. "Right."

"I didn't know what else to do."

"You're really good at thinking on your feet." I'd never heard a compliment sound so much like a slight before.

"Again," Shuichi told him, more sincerely, "sorry, Touta."

To that, Matsuda just jerked his head, faintly. He must know better than to expect much more.

"Get some sleep. You'll feel better tomorrow."

With a loud sigh, Matsuda dropped back into his pillow. "I doubt it."

Guiltily, Aizawa stood there, looking like he wantedto say more, but Matsuda's moods tended to be relentless, and this outrage was no different.

"You guys are dramatic," I complained, pulling a throw close around my neck and closing my eyes.

Finally, Aizawa sighed and whispered to me, "Eriko…might yell at you tomorrow."

"Oh?" I grinned to spite it all. "What else is new?"

Aizawa's living room was much better than Matsuda's, with quality furniture and homey, tasteful decore that spoke to the woman's touch that had put it there. It was bigger, but cozier, and with the paper door shut, it felt inaccessible and secure. So many times in the past, I'd slept on that same couch, it shouldn't have been a problem, except that Matsuda insisted on sleeping with one of the lamps still on, like a scared seven-year-old, and I felt sympathetic enough for him that I didn't bother to object.

Not that it mattered. Soon, the undaunted light of morning dug at my eyelids, and across the room, Matsuda tossed and muttered a lot in his sleep, until I seriously considered getting up to go punch him in the head. Instead, I settled for slipping outside to smoke a cigarette, but the fresh air simply hardened the edges of alertness, and I found my mind going over the circumstances.

Matsuda did have a tendency to do his own thing when he got frustrated with being told no, and he'd asked me a lot about the Shinigami syndicate, so he must at least suspect that's what I'd been working on for the past year.

I hadn't given him anything. Shuichi assigned me the impossible job of cleaning that up because I was the only one he trusted to do it and also keep Matsuda at a safe distance. Still, as much as the kid had insisted that he wanted to help, I hadn't seen any sign that he'd actually go and start working on it—he was up to his eyeballs in his own projects, something, undoubtedly, Chief did on purpose to keep him out of trouble. So, no, I didn't think he'd killed those men, which meant he must have been framed, and therefore, the question became: who would frame him, and for what reason?

Careless Matsuda would be easy to frame. Of course, his fingerprints would be on his standard issue, and the kidnappers could have taken it from him. I just couldn't see any reason in it.

Staking his reputation on Matsuda's innocence meant Aizawa believed, without a doubt, that Matsuda couldn't be responsible for those deaths, but if it turned out we were both wrong, it might cost his job, and I knew two things: if Aizawa went down, I went down, and I wouldn't want to work at the department without him anyway.

That was to say nothing of what would happen to Matsuda if he turned out to be guilty. I didn't expect much mercy for an NPA warrant officer who'd gone against orders and killed suspects in a case that wasn't his, unless we could find evidence that he'd acted out self-defense.

As much as Matsuda's spotty memory might hold the key to the answers we needed—and the fates of our careers—Aizawa wouldn't push him right away, and, unfortunately, I couldn't imagine Matsuda staying put while we went out investigating; he wanted to go home, and he'd leave the second we turned our backs.

Meanwhile, I'd barely been home in days, barely slept, but Aizawa would be charging forward, sleep or no sleep, and his expectations of me had become unwaveringly high in the last twenty years.

I might resent him for that if I didn't so emphatically oppose to him driving himself into the ground alone.

Determined to get at least a few minutes of sleep, I went back inside to lie down, but Eriko came in a second later, setting a furious scowl on me.

"Morning," I greeted, and rolled over, hoping she'd take the hint, for once, to leave me alone.

"You!" she hissed. "You've got a lot of nerve to show your face in my house right now."

I had no idea what she was angry about, but the warning Aizawa gave me last night, which I'd brushed off so easily, suddenly seemed insufficient. "I wouldn't have if yesterday wasn't so—"

She yanked the throw away from me. "Have I got a bone to pick with you, Hideki Ide!"

At the sound of her voice, Matsuda jolted up, tousled and blinking around like he had no idea where he was, and then stared blearily at me, uttering my name.

"Hey, Matsu-kun," I muttered back.

Meanwhile, Eriko raged on. "I can't believe how irresponsible and inconsiderate you still are! After all this time!"

Propping up on my elbows, I squinted at the ferocious morning light and rubbed my dry-feeling eyes. "Eriko… Please."

"Please nothing! If you want to smoke yourself into an early grave, that's your business, but I am not going to stand by while you enable my husband!"

"Oh. That."

"Yeah, _that_. No one's asking you to quit, just don't share your bad habits with Shuichi!"

"It's Kira's fault Shuichi started smoking again. Blame him."

"Not everything is Kira's fault!" she railed, glaring me down.

It certainly felt that way, but I said, "All right. Sorry." Just to shut her up. The practically sleepless night followed by raw, unwelcome morning had instigated the throbbing beginnings of a migraine, and I was in no mood to go toe to toe with her.

Finally, she relented, turning a much gentler look on Matsuda, who'd flopped face down into the pillow again, breathing deeply, as if to calm himself. "Sorry, Touta, sweetie."

"Sweetie," I snorted. She wasn't more than a few years older than him, but she must feel motherly toward him, giving him pet names and calling him by his first name all the time.

She ignored me. Do you want anything? Coffee? Juice?"

"I'll take some coffee, please," he husked, and she leaned down to rub his shoulder with motherly tenderness.

"I'd like a coffee also," I said, still yawning.

Again, she frowned at me. "Your legs aren't broken. Come get it yourself." I could never have married such an abrasive woman.

"Matsuda's legs aren't broken either," I muttered, as she stormed away.

"Taniki-tan," Matsuda murmured, eyes still shut, tentative smile threatening to uncurl across his lips. "You're a bad influence."

"Aizawa's a grown man," I complained, picking around the living room to stretch my legs, and thinking that crashing on his couch had been much easier when I was young. In fact, I could hardly believe the way I used to roll to my feet, dive into the car with him, and speed back to the station on just a couple hours of sleep.

_When did we get so damn old?_

Right now, all I wanted was to shower and pass out again. Instead, I lingered over Matsuda, shifting my weight, uncomfortably, before asking, "You good?"

Emitting a tragic sigh, he complained, "Everything hurts."

"I'll check around for Tylenol or something."

I needed it too. My head throbbed as I wandered into the kitchen, where the blended scents of sizzling bacon and natto wafted, and Aizawa sat at the table, head in his hands, staring down at his phone with half-lidded eyes.

"Your wife," I grumped, taking down a mug from the cabinet. "I thought we agreed you weren't going to tell her you picked up smoking again."

"I didn't. She caught me."

Now I remembered he had mentioned that in passing, several days ago, but I'd been too absorbed in looking for Matsuda to think about what it meant for me, or how, the next time I saw her, I'd have to face the wrath of a fiercely protective woman.

For all his worldliness, tenacity, and courage, Shuichi really could be a self-destructive idiot, and Eriko saw him as one more thing she had to take care of, fighting for him as often as she fought with him.

I poured myself some coffee and rooted around until I found some Bufferin, one eye always on him, noticing he still wore yesterday's shirt and slacks. "Catch any sleep?" I asked in a conversational tone.

"Not much."

"He's going to have a heart attack at this rate," Eriko growled, stamping into the kitchen. "Smoking all the time and staying out all hours of the night with you!"

"He's a grown man," I said under my breath, and a second later was grateful she didn't seem to hear me. I watched her load a mug of coffee with cream and sugar, hustling away again and calling up the stairs, "Yumi! Tomi! Let's go!"

"I've been trying to get a hold of L for hours," Shuichi told me, apparently unaware of anything going on around him. "They must be busy." With a heavy blink, he mumbled, "Of course, who knows what part of the world they might be in; I suppose everyone might be asleep."

Apparently, his solution was to stay awake until he heard back from Mogi.

I took a thoughtful sip of coffee, which was just a little too strong for my tastes, and I'd rather have a cigarette. "So you didn't sleep at all, huh?" I checked my phone, just to see if Kei had said anything to me, though I doubted she'd even woken up yet.

Aizawa went on like he hadn't heard me. "I thought of something else—whoever's behind this probably isn't part of the syndicate. If they were, they would have killed Matsuda."

Automatically, I winced. Matsuda wasn't dead, but something bad had happened to him, and I felt partially to blame.

After all, when Matsuda first started going undercover, the chief had asked me, off the record, to watch his back. He'd known the Shinigami syndicate might use the situation to their advantage, and I guess he'd thought I'd been around long enough to notice if something went awry. But I'd failed, and we were just lucky it hadn't been them this time.

"Likely." I popped a couple Bufferin, sighing. "Anyway, I'm off. I don't feel especially welcome this morning."

At last, he frowned at me, disapprovingly. "I wouldn't bother, Hideki. As soon as we hear from Near, we'll have to follow his instructions."

"That could be hours. Days_._"

"It had better not be." Again, he glared at his phone, daring it to go off.

"Shuichi, Kei's waiting for me."

"Welcome to it."

Frustrated, I stood over him. He could call me, I thought. I might have just enough time to go home and shower at least; but, for all I knew, Near would ask us to leave the country and meet him somewhere. I didn't want to risk Aizawa taking off without me.

As I tried to decide, Matsuda shuffled in, sipping from his coffee mug, and drifted to the window to stare across the back yard. When I handed him the Bufferin, he looked at me like he barely understood who I was.

Bothered by his distant expression, I asked, "Is this guy coming with us?"

"Who?" Aizawa murmured.

"I've got to," Matsuda told me matter-of-factly, and with evident bitterness. "He said he wouldn't let me out of his sight, remember?"

"Yeah," I agreed, "but I doubt he really _meant _that—"

The kids raced into the kitchen, Yumi taking a swing at her brother with a high pitched shriek that felt like a nail through my skull. "You took up all the time in the bathroom!"

Lithe Tomiichi dodged out of her range just in time, unruly hair, like his dad's, bouncing. "You always take too long in there! I have to go in first!" For seven, he was tall, and he carried a baseball mitt with him.

Yumi looked more like Shuichi than Eriko, with his flashing eyes and high cheek bones, but she had her mom's attitude, and we saw more and more of it as she got older.

Despite their noise, Aizawa went back into his sullen coma, and the kids noticed us, eyes lighting up.

I braced myself, but they swarmed Matsuda first.

"Uncle Matsu!" Yumi threw her arms around him, not noticing the way his knees buckled or the barely audible gasp of pain he issued. She was nearly as tall as him.

"Hey, kids," he sputtered.

Tomi tugged his arm, cheering, "Uncle Matsu! Uncle Matsu!"

Thinking I might as well stick around to say hello to them, I finally sat down to drink my coffee and bite my spoon, trying not to think about how much I wanted to smoke.

I could sneak out to the patio, but…if Eriko caught me, she'd be angrier than ever.

"You're okay!" Cheeks pink, Yumi beamed up at Matsuda, and held onto him a little longer than necessary. He was her favorite, just like everybody else. "Daddy said you were missing!"

Matsuda looked so worn out, I expected him to collapse, but he tried to smile for them. "No… Well. I was just…off for a few days."

"Oh, but what happened to your face!" She leaned up to cup his cheek, eyebrows tilting toward her hair.

"Um… I…"

"Got hit by a bus," I suggested under my breath.

"Got hit by a bus," Matsuda echoed automatically, and finished up with a dip shit grin.

Blinking incredulously at his nonsensical lie, Yumi stood back. "Uh. All right."

Gradually, she turned to me, but for knowing them all their lives, I'd never inspired as much affection and joy in them as Matsuda did. Once, long ago, Yumi had even told me I had a mean-looking face.

"Good morning, Uncle Hideki," she said, bowing like a perfect little lady. "What are you doing here?"

"Well, Princess." I smirked at her. "I heard you've been giving your daddy a tough time and thought I'd come back him up."

Yumi shot a nervous look at her dad, who dwelled on his phone, and then went to the burner to stir the soup.

"Everyone sit down so we can eat," Eriko ordered, clipping into the room. "I know it's crowded, but we'll have to make do. Tomi, please settle down, and stop pestering Uncle Matsu. He's very tired."

Flashing her a pale smile, Matsuda sank into his seat and downed a bunch of coffee. He must have burned his mouth, because he winced, but still said, "Oh. I don't mind."

Taking the seat between us, Tomi decided brightly, "We should throw the ball!" He grabbed onto my arm, since Uncle Matsu was off-limits. "Please, Uncle Hideki?"

"Oh, Uncle Hideki's _really_ tired too," I explained, patting him apologetically on the head.

Seeming to forget what his mother had just said, Tomi turned to Uncle Matsu again. "Wanna throw the ball with me?"

"You bet I do." Matsuda grinned. "Right after breakfast, Tomi-chan."

"You're going to school," Eriko reminded her son, laying out dishes. She jostled against Shuichi, intentionally, and murmured, "Wake up, babe," but he didn't seem to notice her.

"Aw, Mom!" Tomi cried in dismay. "Just a coupla' tosses!"

"One toss," Matsuda negotiated, even though I had a hard time believing he'd honestly want to go out into the damp morning and play catch after a restless night. Given the state of his hands, I'd be surprised if he could so much as hold his chopsticks.

"I said no," Eriko answered sternly, tucked some hair behind her ear, and frowned down at her husband with the look that said, _I could use some help._

"Mom said no," he muttered, without looking up. I wondered if he even knew what they were talking about.

"Awww!" Tomi pouted.

"Next time," Matsu promised. "Maybe when you get home tonight."

Tomi beamed, not questioning for a second that Uncle Matsu would still be here when he returned, but Eriko shot Shuichi an even longer look, so she must not know about his plan to keep Matsuda close by.

That plan had nothing to do with me; I was determined to be on my way once I'd eaten, and he'd just have to call to let me know what L said.

Yumi asked, "Uncle Hideki, how are things with Komagata-san?"

"Fine." I smiled at the thought of bright Kei, her boundless energy, and all the ways she made me laugh. If I couldn't get back to her soon, it might be possible to invite her to come and help us.

Maybe not, though. She knew about the notebook, but dragging her into this situation could put her in danger.

No, the only answer was to go home as soon as possible. I didn't care what Shuichi said.

And then, disappointedly, I realized Kei would be at the station by the time I got home.

Eriko brought dishes of natto and rice to the table, and then a bowl of miso. Yumi got up to help her carry platters of bacon and toast, a basket of oranges and a few cups of yogurt, while the rest of us busied ourselves filling our plates and passing things around. Matsuda requested a couple of raw eggs, and then broke them over his rice, stirring them in. I kept one eye on Aizawa, who didn't move.

"I'm happy you're still together," Yumi chirped as she took her seat again, helping herself to a lot of rice and miso. "She's so pretty!"

Young and gorgeous, constantly making me wonder how I'd gotten so lucky. "She must like me for something other than my face, huh?"

Yumi giggled. "Maybe it's your smile. Your smile's not so bad."

"Ladies can't resist my smile," I agreed, sarcastically, and began slathering jam on my toast, not surprised to find I wasn't very hungry.

"How long have you been together now?"

Chewing, I pondered her interest. Being a teenage girl now, it could be she genuinely found something romantic in it, but, more likely, she'd overheard her daddy saying how damn relieved he was that I'd settled down with somebody at last. In fact, he'd played a part of his own in the way things had turned out, encouraging me to take a chance on Kei—he'd always been overly concerned with my love life—I was grateful for that, and I didn't miss his nagging.

Far too often over the years, he'd given me that worried look and muttered, _"I really don't want you to die alone, Hideki."_

I'd been prepared to die alone, though, for a long time, and part of me believed I still would. In time, Kei would come to realize I wasn't the man I perpetuated, and then…

I shook that private fear away and finally told Yumi, "Our anniversary is next week. And she still hasn't yelled at me half as much as your mom does." I winked at Eriko, just as she finally took a seat beside her husband.

"That will change," Eriko assured me, snatching up her chopsticks. "Once she learns how frustrating you are."

I laughed. "You gotta keep things interesting, you know."

"I have no doubt dating you is interesting enough, Uncle Hideki," Eriko muttered, apparently still mad.

Yumi moved along, between gulps of miso. "Uncle Matsu, what about Sayu-san?"

Moodily, Matsuda frowned into his bowl. "Oh… I don't know… I haven't seen her."

Not a good answer to give a kid. Yumi's face contorted with confusion. "What do you mean? She's your girlfriend, right?"

"Yeah…but I haven't really seen her. I don't know how she is."

"She's good," Shuichi assured them both, suddenly coming to life, probably because Eriko had kicked him under the table. He grabbed a fistful of bacon from the platter, and I didn't think it was any healthier than smoking. "You'll see her soon."

Expression betraying that he barely believed it, Matsuda made himself smile in answer to Yumi's concerned look. "It's going great, though. Oh, hey, my anniversary is soon too." He turned to me. "Wanna go on a double date?"

Natto halfway to my mouth, I paused. "Are you kidding me? Double date on the anniversary won't fly, rookie. Even _I _know that."

"Oh, right." He rubbed the back of his neck. "I guess it's not very romantic."

"_I've_ got a boyfriend too now," Yumi announced, self-importantly. "But Daddy never lets me go out with him."

Shuichi rolled his eyes. "Yumi. Not now, okay?"

"His name's Fumihiro Fujimoto, and he walks me to gym class every day."

Devilishly, I smiled at Shuichi. "Sounds serious."

"Yumi," he said, sterner, pushing his food around the dish, apparently not interested in eating anything but bacon. "We've talked about this. You're too young."

"I don't see what age has to do with it," she challenged. "I love him."

"You think you do…"

"I _do_! You have no idea how I—"

"Hey," Uncle Matsu interrupted, slowly shoveling egg rice and natto in his mouth on top of spoonfuls of miso. "Listen to your dad. He always knows best."

His ironic note wasn't lost on Aizawa, who scowled at him like he'd been sucker punched.

"Everyone just eat," Eriko ordered. "The kids are gonna be late."

Yumi shot a final, insolent glare at Shuichi, who heaved a quiet sigh, locked gazes with me just long enough for me to see how unhappy he was, and then scowled back at his phone.

"What can you do?" I muttered.

Then there was peace for a few minutes, so I focused on breakfast, hoping food would make the headache go away, and I tried to shut out my concerns, too. I couldn't imagine a good way to go about stealing the notebook from Near, so letting him know what had happened should be sufficient, and then we could focus our efforts on determining who'd beaten that information out of Matsuda in the first place.

The sooner we got the discussion with Near out of the way, the sooner I could go home.

_All this damn Kira nonsense… I'm so sick of it._

"So," Yumi asked, in a quieter tone, and her eyes flickered across the table, taking everyone in. She was a smart kid, and she'd probably picked up on the cloud of discontent that had settled over her house. "What are you two doing here? Working on a case?"

"What?" I teased around a mouthful of toast. "You don't believe we stopped by just to have breakfast with you?"

Though she tried to smile, some of her mirth got swallowed by confusion and worry as she studied Matsuda from the corner of her eye. Aside from looking completely sleepless, he was bandaged together, still wearing her dad's old sweatshirt. Chopsticks trembling in his hands, he ate much slower than usual, seeming to avoid the solid foods. Normally, he was a cyclone at the table, throwing everything in his mouth at once, with no regard to texture or taste, and he'd always had a way of finishing his meal ten or fifteen minutes ahead of me, sitting impatiently as he waited for me to be done. Today, it looked like eating might be causing him pain.

After I got some sleep, I'd be more than ready to go after the bastard who'd done this to him, and I'd make him pay.

"Did you get hurt investigating?" Yumi wondered suddenly, with the same unwavering bluntness Shuichi always used.

Matsuda glanced around the table to make sure she was talking to him before meeting her gaze, perfectly innocent and clueless. "No. I…" Typical, flimsy excuses about crashing into doors wouldn't cut it this time, and she obviously didn't believe he'd been hit by a bus, so he simply trailed away.

Instead, Eriko advised, "Eat your food, Yumi."

But she persisted. "Daddy says your job is really dangerous." And she stared relentlessly at her father, as if he was directly responsible for Matsuda's condition.

Still mindlessly watching his phone and eating bacon, Aizawa frowned. "I never said that."

"Yes, you did. You told Mom undercover work is really hard and dangerous."

Catching on, Tomi looked up from his yogurt to give Matsuda a look of earnest concern. "Are you really hurt bad? Your hands…"

I watched Matsuda intently, curious to know what kind of stupid answer he'd give them. The kid could get really creative when he didn't want to tell you something.

Fake smiling, he tucked his battered hands under the table. "No, I was just working on my car."

Never mind that I'd never seen him so much as touch a tool. Once, he'd called me up, whining, begging me to drive all the way across town because his battery had died and he didn't know how to jumpstart his own vehicle. By the time I'd reached the location, some kind stranger had already happened along and taken pity on the dumb ass, so he'd left without telling me. I'd been mad at him for nearly thirty minutes.

Wincing, I told myself that was the witlessness that had made him easy to abduct, torture, and frame for murder. This time, rather than a kind stranger, a sadist had found him.

"Did your car punch you in the face?" Yumi wondered.

"Definitely your daughter," I muttered to Shuichi, starting to peel an orange.

"All right," he decided, loudly. "Breakfast is over. Off to school."

Well-trained Tomi jumped from his seat, but Yumi shot her dad a glare. "I'm just asking what happened to Uncle Matsu."

"That's a need to know thing," he told her, in a routine tone.

Even as her brother scampered around the kitchen, grabbing his lunch and wolfing down bacon, she huffed. "I hate it when you say that."

"Go to school, Yumi."

"But I never get to see Uncle Matsu or Uncle Hideki. Can't we stay just a few more minutes?"

"Don't make me tell you again—say goodbye, and go."

Tomi snatched an orange from the table and cried, "Good bye, Uncle Matsu!" giving him a careful fist bump. "Good bye, Uncle Hideki!" He hugged me tight and quick, and then he skipped to the door.

Pouting, Yumi threw her arms around my neck, barely giving me enough time to tap her lightly on the back before she popped around the table to plant a kiss on Matsuda's battered cheek. As she stomped after her brother, I heard her complaining, "It's so unfair!"

"Smart-mouthing the chief," I murmured. "Very bold."

Shuichi tore his eyes off his phone and turned an exhausted glare on me. "Don't encourage her."

"That's what I'm saying," Eriko started up again, determined to lecture me one more time before leaving the house. "You're always encouraging bad behavior, Hideki—I really hoped having a serious relationship again would straighten you out." Even down the hall, she shouted, "You're forty-one years old, for crying out loud!"

The door slammed, and I heaved a sigh, sinking back in my chair to massage my temples. "And you wonder why I don't get married and have kids."

"You definitely couldn't handle it," Aizawa agreed. "_Uncle Matsu_ would make a better dad than you."

"Not if he tells his children he got hit by a bus," I countered, and Matsuda laughed, nervously.

With Eriko out of the house, I lit my first cigarette, going to stand by the open window. I'd be long gone by the time she came back anyway.

Fresh breeze drifted through the screen, and I shut my eyes, trying to locate my center.

Behind me, Aizawa muttered to Matsuda, "You're not allowed to come over anymore. My thirteen-year-old daughter is completely in love with you."

"She is?" Matsu asked in his clueless tone. "That sounds awkward."

"Believe me, it is. When you visit, I don't know if I want to give you my kids, or punch you in the face."

"Well, I don't really want your kids," Matsuda said, as if it was a serious suggestion. "But…I don't really want you to punch me either—"

Aizawa's phone rang, and we all shut up, each of us turning to watch it vibrate against the table. Even after observing it, doggedly, for so long, Aizawa didn't seem to know what to do, and then, when his surprise had passed, he grabbed it up. "Mogi. Yeah. We've got a real problem."


	6. Chapter 6

**Mogi**

Since I'd left the NPA, Matsuda and I had made an effort to keep in touch with one another; it could be said that I started it, seeing how I'd initially made sure to give all of them my new, personal number, in case of emergencies, but Matsuda used it much more than I'd expected him to, phoning me once or twice a month, at least, to, as he put it, keep me up to date with the goings on at the station, and, although our conversations comprised mostly of him gossiping while I listened, I enjoyed hearing from him. I'd still been worried about him when I left, and it relieved me to know he'd picked himself up.

Being that none of us were especially communicative, I hadn't spoken with Aizawa or Ide at all, so when Aizawa left several voicemails on my cell phone, I assumed it must be important—personal even—and I automatically assumed one of the others must have been either critically injured, or possibly killed.

Battling my natural pessimism, I scolded myself for jumping to such a catastrophic conclusion, but as it turned out, what Aizawa had to tell me was just as alarming.

I listened to him explain, in a demoralized voice, how he'd been scouring the Earth for Matsuda all week, interrupting partway through to admit, "I wish you would have told me he went missing."

Aizawa paused. "Yeah. Sorry. I didn't think it would do any good."

Practical of him. With our own case ongoing, I wouldn't have been able to go and help locate Matsu the way I'd have wanted to, which would have downgraded my concerns to a major distraction.

All the same, I would have appreciated knowing one of my only friends in the world had disappeared.

"Look, the point is," Aizawa went on, "he was forced to disclose information about the notebook."

Chest tightening, I repeated, "Forced?"

"I don't know what he told them exactly—_he_ doesn't know—but I wanted to make sure it's still secure."

After Kira died, the three of us had held our breaths, worried that Matsuda might accidentally let slip some of the more problematic details, but he'd proven himself unexpectedly cautious where all that was concerned, and after everything he'd been through since then, I knew he'd do everything in his power to hide the details of the notebook and Kira's identity.

Forced sounded like a soft euphemism for the threat of pain and violence it would have required to convince him otherwise.

I couldn't help cutting in again. "Why exactly did you not tell me he was kidnapped?"

"Mogi." Aizawa drew a familiar, strained breath, sounding all the more tired. "I'm sorry. I don't know. I just didn't. But I'm sorry. He's okay, though."

"Maybe you should have started there," I told him.

Unused to my being outside his chain of command, and therefore allowed to speak my mind, he hesitated, and then growled, "Sorry. Again. Okay, Mogi? I'm sorry. Please, let me start over. Matsuda's fine, he's a little banged up, but he's okay. Someone abducted him and forced him to explain about the notebook."

Understandably, losing Matsuda had made him more disagreeable than usual.

"Who?"

"Mogi…" He breathed an agitated sigh. "If I knew, we'd be having a different discussion."

"You must have a theory."

"Well, I don't. All I know is what he told me."

"I'd like to talk to him, then." It would be a relief to hear his voice and know without a doubt he was okay, but also, it seemed he was the only one who had the facts.

"I don't have time for you and Matsuda to chat," Aizawa growled. "Judging by your reaction, you guys still have the death note, but I thought Near should be informed, in case someone tries to steal it."

"That would be more or less impossible," I assured him, despite his caustic tone.

"Yeah. Great. Thanks, Mogi. Can you tell Near? Or should I do it myself?"

I glanced back down the hall toward the surveillance room, where the constant light of computer screens glowed, harsh. "I'll tell him."

He grumbled a salty, "Thank you."

"We'll be in touch."

Near should hear the facts personally anyway, and for now, I'd have to shelf my more sentimental concerns and keep focused.

Not so long ago, shelving my feelings hadn't seemed so difficult—I'd always been good about keeping an emotional distance from my coworkers—but I'd come out of the Kira case like everyone else: worried about Matsuda, sick over Light's betrayal, regretting more than ever the death of Deputy Director Yagami. I'd been unable to separate myself from a sense of camaraderie with my fellows, just as I'd been unable to tell myself Misa's death shouldn't hurt so deeply.

Ide had teased me about getting old, and I supposed I might simply be growing more feeble with age, but on the other hand, even he, constantly disguised behind his cavalier masks of apathy and diplomacy, must sometimes feel at a loss over some of what had happened.

Inevitably, my hand passed over the wound I'd received in Toyoshi's office, more than a year ago. An ugly scar marred my stomach now, and my mind, also, felt more fragile than it had prior to my near-death experience. Staying mindful of my emotions was the only way to prevent sliding toward a breakdown, and that had been easy since I'd left every loved-one I'd ever known behind in Japan. I didn't dare let news of this misfortune stir me; I couldn' afford to let whatever happened next—to me, or anyone else—disrupt the life I'd built for myself.

Nevertheless, the surest way to ensure that nothing interfered with my sense of stability would be to solve this mystery as quickly as possible, and, unfortunately, that wasn't entirely up to me.

On the way back to the surveillance room, my mind whirled. Some people must still admire Kira, and now that he'd been gone for more than a year, criminals might be emboldened, curious about his methods, or interested in mimicking him. Seeing that L himself remained inaccessible to most, there would be only one reliable place to obtain information on the subject.

Aizawa would die before he'd say anything, and Ide would be so frustrating, I couldn't imagine a kidnapper enduring his attitude for more than several hours—certainly not long enough to learn much.

Someone, apparently, had known that Matsuda would be the easiest to obtain information from, which meant they must have been watching all three for a while.

Based on Matsuda's descriptions of how Aizawa had been handling his role as chief, it would be difficult to slip something by him, though not impossible. I wondered who he'd hired in the last year, and I wondered even more about his superiors, whom he couldn't predict, let alone control; in accordance with his actions in the past, I'd say Director Boko would absolutely be willing to compromise the safety of his men if it meant gleaning more details about Kira.

Frankly, I'd prefer to think this was some move made by a criminal, but that was emotional interference, because I didn't want to think of my friends as being in the hands of enemies.

Endeavoring to disentangle myself from emotion, I paused outside the door to straighten my suit and draw a deep breath, but I felt much more rattled than I would have expected, and I didn't want to pull a Matsu and burst in on Near, flustered and incoherent.

I strode into the dim surveillance room, where Rester, Gevanni, and Lidner sat at their stations, and Near knelt on the floor, meticulously stacking his tarot cards.

The room remained perfectly silent, save the sound of my footsteps as I crossed to stand over him. "I just spoke with Chief Aizawa," I announced, softly.

Near added another card to his tower, giving no indication he'd heard.

"The security of the notebook may have been compromised."

Near paused, still not looking at me, and the others turned in their chairs as I briefly explained what had happened.

"If we stay here much longer," I finished, "we'll need to be extra cautious against intrusion."

"Rester," Near murmured, "how's security?"

"Excellent," Rester assured him. "No one's getting their hands on the notebook."

All the same, he turned to look at it, and I followed his gaze to the small safe housing the death note.

Near shuffled through his cards, looking for a particular one. "From the sound of things, whoever's taken an interest in the notebook is determined. Kidnapping and torturing a police officer is a risky move."

At the word tortured, I winced. Although I'd witnessed him growing more jaded since we'd confronted Kira, Matsuda remained a trusting and blithe soul, caught in perpetual youth, undeserving of such suffering.

"No one knows our exact location," Gevanni ventured. "I don't see how anyone could find us."

We had to wait for Near to stack several more cards before he asked, "Mogi, you've been in contact with the officer who was allegedly abducted, correct?"

The term allegedly struck me as unfair—Aizawa wouldn't lie about the hardship Matsuda had endured—but I understood thinking objectively was in Near's nature, and it was critical to detective work.

_Because of that, we fell into Kira's clutches. None of us, not even I, could think completely objectively about Light._

"We speak occasionally," I answered at last. Adventurous Matsuda was always curious to know where I might be and about my traveling experiences. He never failed to inquire about my location, and sometimes he even tried to trick me by asking what time it was or what my view looked like, or what I'd eaten for lunch, perhaps as a mere exercise in deductive reasoning. "I've never told him where I am."

"Since the end of the Kira investigation, the Japanese NPA has been quite interested in uncovering his killing method. Having members of the former task force working for them, I assume they believe they have a reasonable chance of finding out more in time."

"You think the Japanese police could be behind it?" Gevanni asked.

"It's just as likely to be an outsider, but it depends on how much information has publicized. In any case…" Near shuffled his cards again. "I need to know more before I can determine just how seriously to take this threat."

"I'm sure Chief Aizawa will be willing to answer any questions you have," I said at once. It should go without saying that Aizawa, Ide, and Matsuda wouldn't be in on any plot to abscond with the notebook.

But Near shook his head and then called out, "Commander Rester, arrest Vera Volkov."

Rester blinked at him. "Are you sure?

"Ninety-eight percent. I did want to eliminate the two percent chance he's _not_ the culprit." Near sighed. "But ensuring the security of the notebook is our priority."

"All right," Rester agreed, still looking uncertain.

"Please do it quickly. I want to be on a flight to Tokyo within the next twenty-four hours."

With that, he resumed stacking cards.

Gradually, Lidner asked "Is that really necessary?"

"Afraid so. It's either that or fly Mr. Matsuda out to our location, and that's a bad idea at this point." At last, he turned his head, leveling his black eyes on me. "I want to find out what exactly he leaked. In person."

**Sayu**

"Sayu!" Mom popped into the room, waving a stack of photos at me. "I got the pictures from my trip developed."

I made myself look up from my lap top, but I hadn't been having much luck at writing my paper anyway; my mind had dwelled, constantly, for two days, on Touta.

They took him away, without hardly letting me hold or speak to him; after five days of his being missing, I couldn't believe they'd tear my fiancé right out of my arms so unapologetically.

"I thought you might want to see them," Mom explained, taking a seat close to me on the couch.

The last thing I wanted right now was to look at pictures of her trip and feign a good mood, but if I said no, she'd question my behavior and worry.

"Sure." I shut the computer and lay it on the coffee table as she started handing me pictures. She had to be the only person I knew who still used old school film.

"Here I am with your Aunt Kotako. That was the first night I arrived, not far from the train station."

I tried to smile, tried to be happy for my mother that she'd gotten away from it all for even a short amount of time, but as I scanned one photo after another, my thoughts drifted.

Would it have made any difference to them at all had they known about our engagement? Possibly, I should have mentioned it to Aizawa days ago, and that might have granted me a little more power, but Touta had asked me to keep it quiet—I'd assumed my being Kira's sister complicated things. Dating me was one thing, marrying me might be another.

"We took these at dinner," Mom told me, earnestly, and I caught glimpses, from the corner of my eye, of her expression, and how hard she was trying to get me interested in something. Of course, being back now for two days, she wouldn't have missed my moping.

"That looks nice," I said.

Seeing how I had no idea how to give the mother the news anyway, I'd agreed, without hesitation, not to announce our engagement to anyone yet. After all, I'd feel bad if I moved away from her right now, even if it was only across town to his apartment.

_Touta could come live with us._

A little smile touched my lips to think of how fun that would be, to have him with me all the time, hear him singing in the shower every morning, to sit down to every meal with the two people I loved most, to welcome him home each night, run him a bath, listen to him talk. Just to feel like part of a family again seemed like it could fix so many of the things that had broken inside of me.

It would be good for him too. He got so lonely, living by himself.

But I couldn't even tell the police he was my fiancé, and now I regretted it.

A brightly colored photo passed under my nose. "I took these at the festival. You would have really liked these dancers, Sayu. I wish you could have been there."

Even if I had been, I would have returned to discover my fiancé missing—kidnapped. That made me gladder than ever that I'd stayed in Tokyo.

_Wherever you go, I want to be there with you. I want to know where you are._

The night they'd herded Touta out of the hospital and into a cruiser, I'd looked desperately to Aizawa and Ide, hoping they might clue me in, or possibly offer me a ride to the station. Instead, they'd passed me by with nothing more than a sympathetic look, and I couldn't understand why Ide would call and tell me to meet them if he'd known they were about to take Touta away.

If Ide hadn't known, it could mean Touta was in trouble.

I barely heard Mom say, "There were so many amazing sights to see. Even though I've been there before, I couldn't get my mind around it. It's so much quieter."

"It sounds great."

Returning to my own, silent house hadn't been an option, but going to the station hadn't helped me. No one there had seemed to be able to tell me where he was. I had a hard time believing he might be locked up, but even if he was, why not let me see him? Or at least explain the situation? Some of them had behaved as if they had no idea he was there at all, claiming he must still be in the hospital. I'd been unable to find Aizawa or Ide.

Eventually, I had returned to St. Luke's, a hopeless play at uncovering information on Touta's condition, but the doctors hadn't told me much either. Just that he'd been discharged and that the police had him in their custody.

"Oh, you'd love it there, Sayu," Mom sighed, gazing a long time at a sparkling, clear beach before passing it to me. "We really should move to the country."

After my kidnapping, Mom and Dad had talked about it, and at the time, it had sounded nice to find a peaceful part of this horrifying world, curl up in the simplicity, and never think about anything again.

Not now, though; I had a life here.

_They took my life right out of my hands._

Exhausted, I'd come home, too anxious to sleep, and all night I'd wrestled with knowing he was still gone, despite having been recovered. He'd always be missing until I had him safely in my arms again.

"These are the kids," Mom told me. "They're a bit younger than you. That's Bashira, and this is your cousin, Japana. You met once, when you were younger."

My entire past seemed dim, and my future had gone missing.

In the morning, I'd gotten up early, first calling Aizawa, then Ide—neither had answered—I'd gone all the way back to the station, only to learn that Touta wasn't there at all anymore.

After that, there was nothing to do but go home and await Mom's arrival, do some homework to get my mind off things. God knows I didn't want to, but being that I'd already fallen dangerously far behind on my assignments, I'd forced myself to focus. After all, Touta was alive, and he looked mostly okay. Surely, Aizawa would call me at some point to offer an explanation. Surely, they'd return him to me soon.

Two days later, I hadn't heard a thing. Touta may as well have disappeared again.

_What happened to you, Sweetheart?_

"It's really too bad you didn't come along, Sayu. I think it would have done you good."

He'd been injured, I'd seen that much, face alarmingly bruised and puffy, hands and wrists all bandaged up, dead tired in the officers' unfriendly grips. It hadn't even appeared as if those steely-eyed men might be helping him along. No, they'd been far too rough with my poor Touta, and he'd looked disturbed, despite how he'd tried to smile at me.

"Sayu?"

Aizawa and Ide, also, had appeared troubled, as if they might not particularly care for the way Touta was being treated.

_What could you have possibly done to deserve this?_

Unable to handle the questions any longer, I grabbed up my phone, calling Aizawa for what must be the hundredth time. Again, he didn't answer, and with my mother sitting right beside me, I couldn't even leave him a nasty voicemail.

I settled for a rude text instead: _I want to know where my fiancé is. Now!_

I was past caring.

Mom had gone quiet, and I noticed her watching me with a pensive frown.

"Sorry," I muttered, hitting send and tucking my phone into my pocket. "I'm listening."

"Sayu," she said, carefully, "is everything all right? These last few days, you've seemed…upset."

"I'm fine," I told her, briskly. "Just stressed about school." A normal enough excuse to give. I'd never been good at school.

Regardless, she continued to study me. "Did something happen while I was away?"

"No, Mom. Everything is fine." I made myself smile, aggravated that I couldn't give her the truth, resenting that she had to be so judgmental and disapproving about my boyfriend that I felt that I couldn't even announce our engagement to her.

Slowly, she nodded, and then asked, "How are things with Matsuda-kun," with a sigh that said she didn't really care to know.

Since she'd discovered we were dating, she'd been calling him that, and it wasn't like my mother to be disrespectful, so I hoped she meant it as endearingly as it sounded. I hoped it meant she'd be receptive to the idea of having him as a son-in-law.

"Everything is fine with Touta," I grumbled, and a moment later regretted my acrid tone.

Mom's eyebrows etched together as she nodded sagely, and I knew she thought I was lying—she thought I'd been pouting the last few days because Touta and I were fighting.

"Show me the rest of your pictures," I urged.

"Oh." She picked up the stack, tapping it on the coffee table. "It sees that's all of them. Besides." She rose to take the photos away. "I'm expecting company."

I looked up from my phone, which I'd just taken out again to check if Aizawa had replied. "You are?"

"That's right." Smiling, she leaned around the kitchen door way. "I made a friend, if you can believe it, and he's coming over for tea this afternoon."

Immediately, I felt my face falling into a scowl. Dad hadn't been dead even two years, and she already had a date? I hadn't expected her to ever consider it replacing him. "I wish you would have told me," I muttered.

"I wanted it to be a surprise," she explained, tentatively.

"I have a lot of homework—I don't have time to entertain some guy—you'd have known that if you'd asked."

Immediately, my mother glared. "You watch that attitude, young lady. You're still living under my roof, you know."

"All I'm saying is a little heads up would have been nice."

"Sayu," she said more sternly, like I was five. "You can't expect me to work around your schedule all the time."

"I'm not. Like I said, a heads up would have been nice."

Exasperated, Mom shook her head. "You've hardly paid enough attention to your studies for me to believe it honestly matters, always out with that boy—"

"Touta," I corrected, sharply. "You know who he is, Mom."

She sighed. "I'm having company, Sayu. If you don't feel like entertaining, you're welcome to go to your room and study there, but at least stay long enough to greet him. He's been looking forward to meeting you."

Mom's new boyfriend would be. "I'm not interested in meeting him," I grumbled, picking up my lap top. I was twenty-one years old, and I'd study wherever I wanted.

"That's enough," she scolded. "I expect you to be polite to this man."

As she entered the kitchen to start the tea, I stared at my screen, stewing.

Being polite used to be so easy—I didn't even have to think about it—but after everything that had happened, what did Mom expect?

I reminded myself that it was my own fault she had no idea what I was going through and taking it out on her was childish. In fact, maybe if I told her what had happened, she might excuse me from the whole thing, or, hopefully, dismiss him right away, reschedule. Maybe she'd even tell him this wasn't a good time for her to start a new romance.

Why not? Her husband had just died, she had a new job, a new house to pay for all on her own, and me to look after. This was a terrible time to start a new romance.

As I got up to go after her, thinking I'd better explain myself better if I wanted this to go away, someone knocked at the door.

"That's him," she called, apparently expecting me to get it.

I hesitated, and he knocked again.

"Sayu. The door. Please."

Muttering under my breath, "Of all the bad timing," I stormed over and threw the door open. "Welcome, Oji-san…"

I stopped.

Where I expected a gentlemanly older guy carrying a batch of roses, there stood a young man, only a few years older than me, with a clean-cut face, and hair that looked almost red in the dazzling sunlight. Instead of roses, he clutched a bouquet of daisies.

"You," I gasped, hardly believing it, but he was definitely Mr. X, the one who'd stepped in when I confronted Kazz Akai at the diner.

"Good afternoon, Miss," he greeted with a disarming smile. "Is your mother home?"

"_You're_ here to see my mother?" I glanced out to the street, but he appeared to be alone.

"Yagami-san," he agreed. "She invited me to tea this afternoon." And then he laughed, quietly, but pleasantly. "I'm guessing she didn't explain things."

"No," I agreed, sourly, "she didn't. Anyway, please come in."

"Thank you, Miss."

As he stepped by and took off his shoes, I studied him more intensely, noting his crisp shirt, recently pressed, but untucked and open at the collar. The loafers he left in the genkan looked expensive.

"Here." He offered me the daisies. "I brought these for you."

"Oh. Thank you." I took them, even though I wanted to cut the pleasantries and ask what he was really doing here, but if I had to guess, he'd come to keep tabs on me, and that meant Aizawa had sent him.

It occurred to me, then, that he might even know where Touta was, since he'd promised to return his pistol as soon as he saw him.

"Have you seen—?"

"Tachibana-san!" Mom flew into the room, beaming. "You're so punctual, as always."

"And you're lovely, as always." Gently, he smiled at her, reaching out with a delicate hand to grasp hers.

"Oh, you." She flushed, and my anger bubbled up again. Not only was she trying to replace Dad far too early, she'd chosen a ridiculously younger man to do it with, and obviously she had no idea he was a detective. He couldn't honestly be interested in her. "Tachibana-san." She laid a hand on my shoulder. "I'd like you to meet my daughter Sayu."

Politely, Mr. X bowed. "I'm very pleased to meet you, Sayu-san. Your mother talks about you all the time."

How in the world did they know each other?

Hesitantly, I bowed also. "Pleased to meet you, Tachibana-san."

"Oh, please." He held up a hand, face looking warm. "Call me Tachi. Both of you."

Not Mr. X now, I guessed. If he knew anything about Touta, he probably wouldn't address it in front of my mother.

"Water for tea is boiling," Mom explained, leading the way through the house. "I'm afraid we'll have to take it in the kitchen. The house is small," she added, apologetically.

"Not at all," Tachi argued, smoothly. "It's magnificent. And you have excellent tastes, Yagami-san."

"Ah, mostly, it was Sayu. She has an excellent eye for interior decorating."

Tachi turned his warm, green eyes on me, speaking as if I was the only person on Earth. "That's very admirable, Sayu-san. Of course, I can tell by looking at you that you have plenty of unconventional hobbies as well."

I tried not to glare at him. So far, all of us were sticking to the script, but obviously, he was hinting at our last encounter. "I'm sure you do as well, Tachibana-san," I said, sullenly.

"Oh, yes." He laughed, a full, energetic sound. "Perhaps, if the mood strikes me, I'll tell you about them."

And, if I got him alone, maybe he'd tell me what he'd really come here for.

In the kitchen, Mom conducted us to sit down while she finished her preparations for the tea, and I found a vase for my daisies, torn. I'd said I was going to study, try to ignore this visit altogether, but now I needed to find out what he knew, and anyway, studying seemed impossible while Touta was missing.

Taking his seat, Tachi chatted brightly about the weather, inserting plenty of compliments directed at the two of us and our house, drumming his fingers playfully on the table, like he was listening to a tune in his head. I noticed he wore several gaudy rings and even an earring in one ear, barely peeking out from behind his long but neat hair. He didn't look like a detective.

Even Touta wasn't allowed to grow his hair that long.

Not long ago, I'd woke to find him scrambling around his apartment, babbling about how he'd almost forgotten the emergency barber appointment he had to get to. And when I'd laughed, he'd fixed an utterly serious look on me. _"Aizawa will be so mad if I come in one more day looking like this."_

_"Aren't you supposed to be his favorite?"_ I'd teased._ "I'm sure he'd let it slide."_

More seriously than ever, he'd insisted, _"I have to get it cut,"_ and then he'd paused, looking thoughtful. _"Or call in sick. I think I have sick time."_

_"It barely touches your collar," _I'd insisted.

Touta had brushed his fingers through his hair, as if trying to shorten it himself. _"Exactly! It's way too long!"_ And then he'd kissed me on the forehead, and dashed out the door, leaving me to laugh and go back to bed, without a care in the world.

_I miss you so much_, I thought, looking dolefully out the window.

"I'm pleased to be here," Tachi said, with an air of unquestionable sincerity.

"Yes, I'm very glad we're finally getting together," Mom agreed, setting tea on the table.

"We've certainly talked about it enough."

Finally, I asked, "How do you two know each other?" This young, somewhat unconventional man didn't seem like the sort of person my mother would normally brush elbows with, unless he was a client at her boss's accounting firm.

No, Tachi didn't look old enough to have an accountant. Then again, considering the expensive nature of his attire, he might have enough money to need one…

"Tachibana-san works in the same office complex as I do." Mom beamed at me, and I could tell she was really happy. "Several months ago, he asked if it would be all right to sit with me at lunch. We made a habit of it."

Tachi's grin revealed perfect teeth. He seemed friendly enough to approach a lonesome older woman and ask to join her for lunch, but I knew he didn't actually work in that business park, and I couldn't think of a reason for him to want to make her acquaintance.

Could they really just be friends? That would be some coincidence.

"That's kind of you," I said. "Thank you for taking care of my mother."

His eyes widened. "Oh, no, Sayu-san, your mother takes care of _me_! Bringing me bento all the time." With another charming smile, he leaned over to lay a small hand over hers.

Someone able to afford shoes that must have cost at least fifty-thousand didn't need my mother bringing him bento.

"Tachi-kun," Mom scolded, mildly, patting his arm. "You really do need to find a nice girl to look after you."

"That I do," he agreed, and picked up his tea, sipping with utmost politeness.

Disbelievingly, I stared at my mother, who'd used the comment to segue into talking about me, my studies at school, my grades, and my over all appeal on a typical front. After listening for only a moment or two, it began to sound like a routine sales pitch, like the one I used to give when I worked at the mall, selling make up kits.

That explained it.

I clenched my fists. How dare she?

"I only wish," Mom admitted, with a tragic air, "I could get her out of the house a bit more. Sayu, you really should try to get involved with some extracurricular activities."

"It's important to find a balance," Tachi advised, smiling at me. "My family owns a boat—I could take you out some time. Or, if that's too much adventure for you, I know some excellent places to hike."

"Sailing sounds exciting," Mom said, "but is it very dangerous?"

"Not at all, Yagami-san. That is, if the weather's nice." He laughed, brightly.

"I'm interested to know more about your hiking habits," Mom told him. "Sayu, you like hiking, don't you?"

I'd never cared for hiking before I'd started dating Touta. Strangely enough, as much as I'd expected him to be strictly a city boy, he had an outdoorsy streak and was always taking me on what he called 'little adventures' into the countryside. I'd grown to love it, a fondness synonymous with my affection for him, and I absolutely refused to do it with another man.

"Primarily, I enjoy visiting historic sites," Tachi explained. "Are you interested in history, Sayu-san? There are some fascinating spots just outside the city."

With every word they spoke, my anger steepened. Motives aside, Tachibana had some gall to sit there and pretend I didn't know he was a detective. My mother sounded like she couldn't wait to sell me off, like livestock.

"I don't have time," I announced, loudly. "I'm extremely busy with school."

Both of them cut off, mouths still hanging open, and Mom frowned. "Oh, Sayu, it's as Tachibana-san said—you must have some balance."

"All work and no play," Tachi agreed.

"But Mom." I smiled sharply at her. "Weren't you just scolding me earlier about how much time I waste with that _boy_ when I should be studying?"

Mom floundered, gaping and stuttering. "Oh, well…I…" She shot a nervous look at Tachi, confirming all of my suspicions.

I got up. "Sorry to disappoint you, Tachibana-san, but I have a boyfriend. A fiancé, in fact."

"I'm not disappointed at all," he told me, quietly, but his smile remained as friendly and gentle as ever.

"Let me be clearer. I'm not sure what my mother promised you, but I am unavailable, and intend to remain that way."

With that, I turned on my heel, dumped my tea down the sink, and marched into the living room, where I stood, impatiently waiting for my mother to come after me.

Sure enough, I heard her whisper, "Please excuse me, Tachibana-san. I'll just be a moment."

Glaring, I faced the doorway, just as she appeared, looking frazzled. "Sayu," she hissed. "That was very rude."

"Rude?" I repeated, struggling to keep my voice low. "You think it's rude to tell a strange man I'm already taken? Isn't it rude to invite him here, under the pretense that you have a pretty, helpful daughter who needs a man in her life?"

"Sayu…" She shook her head, radiating frustration. "I hardly know what to do with you these days. You've been so strange."

Face burning, I snapped, "You know I have a boyfriend."

Mom drew herself up, suddenly averting her gaze. "In a way, I suppose, you do."

"And just what does that mean?"

She pursed her lips. "You know I disapprove."

"Yeah, I know," I agreed, seething. "I didn't realize that meant you were going to start trying to give me away to men you like better."

"I didn't think there was any harm in introducing you," she retorted, more fiercely. "I thought the two of you would get along, and I thought you might at least become friends."

"But you _hoped_ I'd like him, and that I'd change my mind, because he has more money, and he's closer to my age, and he's not a cop. Like Touta."

Quietly, she studied me, with the same perplexed expression she'd been giving me for months.

Three years ago, Sayu Yagami would have been thrilled to meet a man as good looking and charming as Tachibana, whether she had a boyfriend or not.

_I'm not that girl anymore._

"Sayu," she confessed at last, "I'm concerned for you—all I do is worry about you—I don't know how much time I have left, and I want to know you'll be taken care of. I'm sorry if it hurts your feelings, but I get the sense you take care of Matsuda-kun much more than he takes care of you."

Tachibana-san. Matsuda-kun. It wasn't affection after all. It was disrespect toward the man she didn't see as fit to take care of her daughter.

The way I was tending to Touta, washing his laundry, reminding him to take breaks when he got entrenched in work, and comforting him from nightmares, I understood why other people might think I had to take care of him all the time. Maybe they just pretended not to notice the way he drove me around or bought me things I couldn't afford, but no one got to see how he waited on me when I was on my period, and held me when I cried.

I informed her, stiffly, "Touta is my partner—we take care of each other."

Didn't we have it all figured out? He made good money—he was going to buy us a house as soon as he could, which I'd maintain while he was at work. We'd learn how to cook together. I'd finish school, and he'd support me, whatever I did. No matter what, I'd always be there to hold him if he woke up screaming, and he'd always wrap me in a blanket and kiss me when I felt sad or lost. Together, we would make this broken life work.

"I love him," I told her. "We're getting married."

At once, Mom started to tremble, and her eyes widened. She even went so far as to clasp a hand over her mouth. "Oh, no. No, you're not."

"Yes. We are."

"I won't allow it."

"It's mydecision._"_

"Your father wouldn't have approved."

Thinking about my father and what he might have wanted still felt like a crushing weight, bearing down on me, but I said, "Daddy cared about Touta. I believe he'd want us to be happy."

Sighing deeply, Mom dropped onto the couch and rested her head in her hand. After a pause, she said, sadly, "Yes, sweetheart, he would, but I'm not sure getting married to Touta Matsuda will make you happy."

I'd grown out of the naïveté of believing life's difficulties could be fixed by something like marriage.

_I have to have you with me to get through it, though. You have to come back to me._

Thinking again of how they'd taken him from me, my heart sank into darkness, and I felt the life I'd pictured—the life we'd planned—slipping through my fingers.

Meanwhile, Mom went on. "Sayu, I know what it's like to be in love, how romantic it can be to feel as if you're breaking the rules with someone who makes your heart sing."

I shut my eyes, battling tears. With him, it didn't feel that way, not exactly. More that we were fighting upstream together, looking for a safe place to rest, and he made my heart glow with gratitude, because I didn't have to do it all alone.

_You make me feel strong._

"My parents didn't want me to marry a police officer either," Mom explained, sounding far away. "No one wants that for their daughter. But you must understand, there's more to it than that. For one thing, the circumstances which brought you and Matsuda-kun together aren't the sort of thing one builds a healthy marriage upon."

There was still so much she didn't know, though, about what brought Touta and I together. She didn't know how I'd watched him nearly get his head knocked in with a pipe, or how exciting and relieving it had felt when he swept me up in his arms to kiss me for the first time, how I'd loved him so much just then that I'd even cherished the taste of blood inside his warm mouth.

She didn't know how it had felt the night of the drive-by shooting, the way letting go of his hand had been so much like dying, or how I'd crawled into bed that night, still wearing my little, black dress, shaking, sobbing, holding myself tightly, wishing I had him in my arms.

She didn't know how terrible it had been to think the man I loved with such desperation had murdered my brother, how it had hurt so badly I'd thought I'd never be the same again, or how grateful I'd been when Aizawa told me the truth about the shinigami and the death note. No. No one could ever understand how willing I'd been to force myself through such emotional and mental gymnastics just so I could look him in the eyes and say goodbye, or how my heart had raced out of control when I'd learned I still had a shot to be with him.

Once, I'd assumed it would end—dramatically and suddenly. Once, I'd assumed there could be no happy life between me and the man who'd shot Light. But after we got together, not hunting for clues, not fighting for our lives, just out having simple fun, Touta had eclipsed everything else.

His boyish smile, his tender touch, his gentle voice woke such love in me, I could hardly stand it—I loved seeing him in the distance, obliviously staring at the sky, enjoying the wind in his hair; I loved the feel of his fingers intertwined with my own; I loved his firm, warm body against mine; I loved his long lashes fluttering in the morning light, his breath on my cheek, his hair on my pillow; I loved the dreamy look in his eyes when he woke up to find me there, watching him sleep. Because he was mine.

Mom would never know the way those intimate moments sprouted inside my heart like seeds of wonder and affection the first night I slid my fingers across his supple muscles and wrapped myself in every fiber of the way he looked, smelled, felt and sounded, panting in my ear, whispering my name, that ragged, raised scar beneath my fingers, that quiet look of torture in his eyes that seemed to say, I know I don't deserve you. How my heart had burst then. I'd cried against his shoulder out of the pain and joy of loving him so impossibly much, despite it all. She'd never understand how I'd fallen asleep, so close we'd seemed to share one body, cursing and hating my brother for all the beautiful things he'd nearly stolen from me.

"Our marriage won't be built on that," I told her calmly. "Our marriage will be built on how much I love him—how much he loves _me._"

Not seeming to know what to say, Mom paused and then leaned forward to whisper, "Sayu, please, consider my feelings. After what happened to your father and brother, you can't intend to put yourself through this."

I shook my head in dismay. Touta was still alive, even through the Kira case and its aftershock; he'd destroyed Kira in his own way and claimed some revenge for my father. Who else was there in the whole world deserving of my loyalty and affection?

_Now you're gone… I don't know how to get to you._

I'd give anything to have him beside me now so we could tell Mom together that we were going to get married. I'd hoped she'd be happy for us. I hadn't thought that was too much to ask.

"Tachibana-san is nice," Mom insisted. "He's kind and smart, he works hard, he's close to your age—just give him a chance."

"You're asking me to cheat on my fiancé," I accused, finally sounding angry.

Her face paled.

"Absolutely not. There's nothing you can say that will convince me to do that to Touta."

"Sayu—"

"Also, _Touta_ is all those things, and more." Agony tore through my heart as I remembered seeing him at the hospital, so tattered and confused.

_Why did they take you from me?_

If Mom knew what had happened, I'd like to think she never would have invited Tachibana here today, and yet, now I worried, if she learned that my fiancé had basically gone missing, would she try to capitalize on it?

_You're not here to show them I belong to someone._

_ I'll show them._

Strengthening my resolve, I told her, "If I can't be with him, I'll die alone—but I will never stop waiting for him."

And I continued on my way to my room, where I immediately threw myself down on the bed, crying quietly into my pillow. I didn't need this right now. I wanted to wake up and find everything all right again.

After Dad, Light, and Misa died, I'd thought nothing could ever be all right again, but Touta showed me otherwise. He'd showed me I had to keep moving forward, because you never knew when something good might arrive to make all the pain worthwhile.

_It's good for me that you're so much older. You know things I don't._

How could my mom think he wouldn't be able to take care of me?

After I'd been lying there a moment, I heard a knock on my door, and Tachibana's gentle voice called, "Sayu-san? It's me."

At once, I opened my mouth to send him away, and then remembered that he might know something—he might have come here to tell me something important—so I got up, wiped the tears from my eyes, and went to open the door, where he stood, casually, hands in his pockets, looking unconcerned. "Hey." He smiled at once. "I came to say goodbye."

"That's all?" I asked, scanning the hall to make sure Mom wasn't nearby. "You really came here just to have tea with my mother?"

"Of course I did. Why else would I come here?" He watched my expression, interestedly.

I drew a deep breath and lowered my voice. "I hoped you could tell me something about what happened to Sergeant Matsuda."

Taken aback, Tachi spent several moments stammering before he asked, "He was recovered, wasn't he?"

"Yes," I agreed, impatiently. "Wednesday night. They took him to the hospital, and then to the police station—I think. Nobody has told me anything since then." I glared at him, and even though it wasn't fair, he suddenly represented the entire NPA. "I want to know where he is."

"That's strange," he murmured in a thoughtful voice, and then added, apologetically, "I don't know anything about that."

Incredulously, I demanded, "You really didn't come here to tell me something important?"

"Well, I…" He stopped suddenly, looking over his shoulder, and then whispered. "I'm not sure this is the best place to talk. Can you meet me?"

"Maybe," I muttered. "Later. After my class this afternoon."

"That would be better. I can meet you on campus, and we'll go somewhere private."

For the first time since they took him from me in the hospital, I saw a ray of hope at the end of my dark tunnel, and it even felt as if a weight fell from my shoulders. I nodded, emphatically. "Any time, anywhere. I just want to know what happened to my fiancé."

"Don't worry, Sayu," he said, earnestly, and pressed my hand. His were noticeably soft and delicate. "I'll help you figure it out."


	7. Chapter 7

**Matsuda**

* * *

"I really want to go home," I muttered, struggling to get my tie on straight. In the full-length mirror, my body almost looked right, sturdy in the navy blue suit Ide had brought me, and the way my shoulders filled it now, I could tell my more aggressive workouts had been paying off, but breathing still hurt, and the bruises on my face looked bad. To my horror, I'd discovered that, next to the tooth I was missing, another seemed to be damaged, cracked, maybe, and uneven. They were just molars nobody would ever see, but it scared me that someone had been digging around inside my mouth and I couldn't even remember it.

"So do I," Ide agreed absently, from his place on the guest bed. He stared intently at his phone, probably texting Kei. For the last two days, that's all he'd done, morning, noon, and night, like a high school kid.

Agitatedly, I jerked my tie loose to start over. Fingertips throbbing and stinging constantly, tasks as simple as lacing up my shoes, eating with chopsticks, and tying my stupid tie had suddenly become clumsy and almost impossible.

Frustration and anger simmered inside me, as constant as Ide's texting, getting close to the surface. "Aizawa won't even let me talk to Sayu."

"Mmhm," Ide mumbled, not listening.

"At least you get to text your girlfriend. I don't even know where my phone _is_."

"At the station, in evidence."

I rolled my eyes and tore my tie off again, ready to give up on it completely. _One more time_, I told myself, taking a deep breath, and looped it around my neck to start over. "Thanks for caring, Ide."

He was paying so little attention, I honestly didn't expect him to hear me, but Ide lowered his phone to look up, and our gazes met in the mirror. Immediately, I averted mine, focusing on my tie and licking ferociously at the jagged tooth in the back of my mouth.

With a sigh, he rose and came over, jerking me around to face him.

"_Sorry_," I hissed.

Lightly, he pushed my hands aside to yank my tie even. "I hated wearing a tie when I was a kid," he muttered. "I barely knew how to put the damn thing on."

I watched his eyes, startled by how gentle they could sometimes look, like soft clouds, so different from the way they'd flashed earlier when he'd irritably threw my suit at me, growling, _"Get dressed."_

By extension, he'd gotten roped into Aizawa's promise to keep an eye on me. Most people would have told him to go to hell, and it went to show how Ide would do anything for Aizawa, but that didn't change how annoyed he must be.

"Once you talk to L," he went on, "you can probably go home. He'll get to the bottom of this mess, and I'll bring you your phone later, so quit being so fussy."

"I can't help it," I told him with a sigh, and touched my tongue to my damaged teeth again. With everything else wrong with me, it would be dumb to worry about some messed up teeth.

Straightening my tie, he looked me in the eyes again.

"I don't want to talk to L," I confessed. After everything I'd been through, getting cross-examined by Near didn't seem fair. It was bad enough that Aizawa had made me feel like an idiot, a coward, and a liar.

_He had a good reason,_ I reminded myself for the millionth time. _He got me out of the interrogation, he kept me from being arrested, he took all the responsibility on himself. I should be grateful._

All the same, it aggravated me that he'd treated me like I was insubordinate and even threatened to lock me up. Since he'd gotten promoted, I'd done everything he said, whether I wanted to or not, shoving down the frustration that came with not being allowed to investigate the syndicate, taking a long, boring class on leadership, tagging along with Riki like a rookie. I deserved more respect from him.

"Look on the bright side," Ide recommended, even though he almost never did. "You'll get to see Mogi."

"I guess," I mumbled, trying to make my bruised lips smile. Seeing Mogi would normally make me ecstatic—I'd love to be able to sit down over a cup of coffee or a beer and just discuss all the excitement we'd been through since he left the NPA—but since there probably wouldn't be time for that, and I wasn't in the mood anyway, I couldn't seem to get very excited about it.

Studying my bruised face with a thoughtful frown, Ide slammed me, softly, on the shoulder. "Don't worry so much, Sparky. I'll be with you."

Ide had the loyalty of a dog, and I trusted his objective judgments, scrappiness, and intuition. I tried to tell myself that as long as he was around, I shouldn't have to be scared of anything.

With him at my shoulder, I limped down to the living room, where I struggled to reconnect with some of my optimism. Aizawa had a large, comfortable house—much better to be an indefinite guest there than locked up at the station—Eriko had been extremely sweet to me, tending to my injuries every day and always making sure I had whatever I needed; the kids were a breath of fresh air in this dank situation, too. Tossing the ball with Tomi wasn't easy when my ribs and hands hurt, but it was good to see him laugh and smile; and Yumi alternated between doting on me and gossiping to me about her school life. At least, here, I felt safe, with the chief patrolling the house, gun tucked under his shirt, scowling through every window he passed in case an intruder showed up, and sending me subtle looks of concern. Despite my annoyance, I wanted to believe him when he told me everything was okay.

Today, though, Eriko and the kids were away, and the quiet of the empty house unnerved me.

To get my mind off it, I sat down and picked up a photo of the family off the end table. They didn't have many pictures of the four of them together—maybe another sign of how rough their marriage really was—but she'd decided to frame this one, probably because Aizawa was laughing, looking young and carefree, and that had to be the rarest thing on Earth, worth keeping forever.

"Eriko sure nags you a lot," I commented.

"Jeez," Ide huffed. "She's worse than my own mother."

_"Hideki_," I teased, leaning over to shove him, "you should quit smoking! _Hideki_, stop passing your bad habits off on Shuichi. _Hideki, _you really need to settle down—you're forty-one years old!"

A smile lit his serious face. "Oh, you missed out on the days of, _Hideki,_ you shouldn't eat so many donuts! _Hideki_, I got you tea instead of coffee because you don't need the caffeine. _Hideki_, do I need to stop by and clean your apartment?"

I laughed. "Has she really cleaned your apartment?"

"They both have," he told me with a scowl. "You think you've got it rough, imagine waking up from a hangover to find Shuichi, of all people, standing over you with a trash bag, saying he threw all your junk away."

Aizawa would, I thought. Despite trying to mind his own business for the most part, once he made the decision to interfere in your personal life, he went at it full force, doing what was 'best for you,' whether that's what you wanted or not, but Ide was so self-possessed and on top of things, it was hard to imagine a time when Aizawa would have felt the need to do something so invasive.

Not like me, who he couldn't bring himself to trust and felt the need to watch over all the time.

"Man, I've heard them joke about you being their practice teenager, but I never realized you were such a handful."

Aizawa wandered into the room, checking his gun. "You know how he gets when his place is messy." With a shake of his head, he grabbed his coat. "Sometimes going to clean his apartment was the only way to make him go home."

"What?" Laughing all the harder, I looked at Ide again. His face had gone beet red.

"That was a long time ago," he defended.

"I seem to remember doing it just a few months ago," Aizawa corrected.

This time, I gave Ide a more analytical look. During the Kira investigation, I used to leave all kinds of stray pens and empty coffee cups at his work station, just to watch him explode, _"Goddammit, Matsuda, keep your shit on your side of the table!"_ When he felt stressed, though, he let everything go to hell, and the worse the mess got, the more irritated he became, so I'd definitely seen Aizawa pick up after him a few times, when he was being especially bitchy. I hadn't known he'd been that high-strung recently.

"It was longer than that," he insisted, looking mortified. "More than a year at least. And you didn't clean my apartment—you came over while I was cleaning and offered to help."

Aizawa cracked the rare, affectionate smile he usually reserved for his family, but it didn't last very long before he sighed in mock dismay, "Yeah, be grateful, Matsu. You never had to deal with little shit Hideki, the man who couldn't seem to afford a suit jacket, crashing in some complete stranger's basement, living off of beer, coffee, donuts, and cigarettes."

I grinned at Ide. "You lived in a stranger's basement?"

Snorting, Aizawa pulled on his coat. "You think he's cranky now, imagine him sleeping on someone's moldering couch for five years."

"It was cheap," Ide explained. "And it wasn't as crappy as he makes it sound."

"Wow." Still laughing, I shook my head and got up off the couch, trying to ignore the pain in my slashed feet and bruised ribs. "Just _wow_, Ide."

"That's not the half of it," Aizawa went on, locating his sunglasses. "Dip shit got threatened with suspension at least once a month. He could barely get along with _Mogi_ for crying out loud."

"Mogi was so pretentious," Ide sniffed.

"Who can't get along with Mogi?" I demanded, following them to the door.

Aizawa threw his arms up. "That's what I always said. Mogi didn't even want to fight with him, just said yes sir, no sir a lot."

"Pretentious bastard," Ide insisted under his breath.

"Yeah," Aizawa sighed, like it drained him just to remember, "you're annoying, Matsu, but at least you're not Hideki Ide."

Swinging the door open, he led the way out into the sunlight.

In the car, the jokes wore out fast. Aizawa turned stony and sour first, barely speaking even when we said something to him.

When he'd told me the other day that I'd have to talk to L, he'd made it sound completely routine—not a big deal—but he didn't act like he really believed it.

Ide tried to talk for a while, mostly retaliating by sharing stories about what a pain Aizawa had been when he was younger, nagging all the time and throwing his weight around like a big shot. He complained, "I really thought I was going to lose all my hair by the time I was thirty, thanks to him," and I laughed a little, but the closer we got to Daikoku Wharf, the heavier my guts became. Before long, I couldn't even crack a smile.

Getting interviewed by Near was bad enough without him wanting to meet in the same building where I'd shot Kira. By the time we stopped, not a kilometer from the yellow box so Aizawa and Ide could fit me with a wire, I stared obsessively at the faded, cream-colored roof in the distance, playing it over and over in my head, how that day had felt, wondering what kinds of awful memories going inside again could bring back to me.

After we'd found Light's body, Aizawa had made me return to the yellow box with him so that he could talk to Near. Now, I understood that I'd been in shock and he had wanted to keep me close—away from the corpse of our friend I'd blown apart—but going back to see the spot where Light had lay and writhed, cursing us, hadn't been much better. I wondered if that bloody spot was still there.

"I shouldn't have to tell you," Aizawa grunted, taping the mic to my chest, "no one needs to know you're wearing this."

"Mmkay," I agreed, barely listening. The fastest way out of this situation was to simply follow orders.

"Not even Mogi. Understand?"

"I won't, Captain."

He hesitated to give me a long look.

"Chief. Sorry."

"I can't believe you still don't have any hair on your chest," Ide snorted, after a moment of adjusting the wire. "You look like you're twelve."

"I've never seen you grow a real beard either," Aizawa added.

Absently, I glanced down at my bruised abdomen, and the sight of the black and blue made me want to go home worse than ever, to sleep and drink beer and try to forget any of this had happened.

As if I'd argued, Ide informed me, "That little soul patch you had a few years ago didn't count."

"Oh, that." I tried to laugh, rubbing absently at my chin. "It was cute though, right?"

"Oh, sure," Ide sneered. "Adorable. You really had that middle-schooler with his dad's pube's glued to his face look down."

"Don't be gross, Ide," Aizawa muttered, and then yanked my tee down again. "There. Try not to disrupt it."

With shaking hands, I buttoned up my dress shirt and adjusted my tie.

"We got this," Ide reminded me, but the levity sounded awkward in his normally sneering mouth.

I looked at Aizawa. "Can I please just call Sayu before we go inside?"

Past his aviators, I couldn't see his eyes, but is brow furrowed. "After."

"C'mon, Aizawa, it's been twodays."

"Yeah, and you can call herafter we're done here, Matsuda."

"What if I never come back?"

He frowned. "You're coming back. Why wouldn't you?"

"I don't know. But you're really going to feel like a jackass if I die in here and you wouldn't even let me talk to my—"

His jaw tightened. In a blur, his hand flew, smacking me harshly upside the head so I bumped my brow against the back of Ide's seat, and, as I tried to decide which spot to rub first, he snarled, "I've warned you about blurting out whatever pops into your mind."

The blow hadn't hurt as bad as it bruised my pride. Rubbing my head, I glared at him.

Not caring, he went on, "The last thing I need is for you to blurt something out to Sayu that's classified, especially since the two of you have such an idiotic track record of getting into trouble together. So, _when_ you come back, you can call her. Now focus."

Ide shot me a wide-eyed look, and the chief turned in his seat, whipping out his cell phone.

"You didn't have to hit me," I muttered.

"You don't _guilt_ trip people into giving you your way by acting like you're scared to die—dammit. Mogi?" He glared at me in his rearview. "Yeah, we're here."

"I'm not acting," I told him, all the quieter. "Light died here."

This time, the look he shot me was so fierce, I thought it might melt me, and I even got a glimpse of his eyes over the tops of his aviators, furious and narrow. "Hang on, Mogi. Matsuda, I swear to god. Shut. Your goddamn. Mouth!"

"Seriously," Ide added, softer. "Shush."

At last, I sank back in my seat, bouncing my leg and staring ahead at the yellow box. Near had thought it was a good place to die—he'd known it was either Kira or us—and at one point, I'd thought I was going to die here.

I touched my burning forearm, where the scars had been reopened, but, even after all the terrible things I'd been through, even after long sessions of therapy with the best doctor I could find, this place still haunted my dreams. I still heard Light laughing and screaming like a maniac. I still felt the rage of know he'd betrayed us, and the terror of being sure I was about to die.

Loud and fast, my heart hammered.

Going inside shouldn't matter. Nothing was going to happen. Aizawa was right—I wasn't going to die; that was silly.

To get sucked back to square one, though, to lose even a little of my progress, would be almost as bad. Moving on had been so hard the first time, I wasn't sure I could do it all over again.

Aizawa twisted in his seat. After a second, he nudged my shoulder.

At least, I told myself, he'd be with me. I could forgive him for smacking me—he was just stressed—he'd get me through this.

"Make sure you get a look at the notebook," he said. "I'm not sure if that'll be an option, or if you'll be able to confirm that it's authentic, but give it a shot. For my peace of mind."

"Wait." I finally took my eyes off the yellow box again. "What?"

The lines of worry on his face stood out, but his tone stayed controlled. "You should be able to recognize Light or Misa's handwriting. Don't you think?"

"Maybe. Why can't you just do it?"

Between his eyebrows, the wrinkles deepened. "We just went through this. I can't go in."

"You can't? I thought you were both coming in."

"We were. Anyway, Mogi's meeting you halfway, but—"

"I have to go in there _alone_?"

Aizawa studied me, and though the position of his mouth told me I was trying his patience, he answered pragmatically, like he did when he thought I was being hysterical, "Well, Mogi will be there, but Near said the two of us aren't allowed to come with you, no."

Automatically, I looked at Ide. "You said."

He shrugged. "Sorry, kiddo."

"It's not a big deal, Matsuda," Aizawa insisted. "Just go in there and tell Near everything you know. Do whatever he says."

"What if he asks me to do something I can't do?"

"Like what?" Ide wanted to know.

"I don't know. Tell him who kidnapped me?"

"Tell him you don't know."

"What if he doesn't believe me? What if—?"

"Matsuda," Aizawa interrupted, tapping a finger to my chest to indicate the wire. "You're wearing this for a reason."

"I thought you said it was just a precaution."

"It is. Nothing's going to go wrong."

"You don't know that!"

"Well, I can't imagine what it would be." He glanced up the road at the yellow box again, and then stared a long time in his rearview mirror. "Everything's fine, Matsuda. You just have to get through this."

"Yeah, but—"

"There's nothing I can do about it," he snapped, finally out of patience. "And the sooner you come back, the sooner you can talk to Sayu."

Using that as leverage wasn't very cool—especially not after he'd hit me for doing something similar—but it worked much better on me, and I climbed out of the car, scowling, stuffed my hands into my pockets, and started walking, shoes dragging across the gravel. With every step, my chest tightened.

Ahead of me, the yellow box loomed, faded and forgotten, its boards, beaten by storms and briny air, slowly decaying. Even in the bright morning, it looked ominous, throwing a jagged shadow on the ground, isolated from everything, and it might as well have been a portal to another dimension. I felt like the second I stepped through the door, no one would be able to hear me scream. No one would ever find me again. Just like they'd never found the spot where Kira had died.

His voice rang through my mind, and I drew a sharp breath.

"It's not fair to send me in here alone," I muttered, and then, realizing I could say whatever I wanted to Aizawa, I added, "Even if I don't die, I'm gonna be mad at you forever."

It wasn't true. I knew this wasn't his fault. We didn't have much choice but to comply with L—like always—and I was just being a baby, but still, the closer I got to the yellow box, the more afraid I felt.

"Months of therapy down the drain," I told him. "After this, I want leave. Lots of leave."

I could almost hear him mutter, _yeah, Matsu, fine. _I deserved leave, after all this, and I still wasn't sure I wouldn't leave the yellow box as a complete basket case.

As I marched along, I tried to steel my mind and mentally prepare. Aizawa and Ide must know how to do that—they almost never seemed scared—but I'd just never figured out how to really be brave.

A towering, dark figure appeared in the road, and I jerked, hard, ready to run, but it turned out to be Mogi, sauntering toward me. I drew a deep breath and paused before moving forward. We met after a few paces.

"Hey, Mochi," I murmured, still barely taking my eyes off the building. It had been a year since I last saw him, but he didn't look much different—strong and professional. Not scared at all.

Mogi stared at my face, eyes wide. "Matsu… Aizawa didn't tell me…" He gestured to the bruises.

"Aizawa sucks at communicating," I agreed, loudly, and even glared over my shoulder at the car.

Brow furrowing, he checked me over. "Are you okay?"

"Oh, sure." I smiled up at him. "I've got a prick for a boss, that's all." I didn't even care if I got it later, it was worth it to say it out loud for the first time ever.

"You've got a good boss," Mogi corrected. "From what I hear, if any of this goes wrong, he's the one who'll pay for it."

"Yeah," I agreed quietly, immediately feeling stupid and childish. "I know… It's just been a long week." I added, "Sorry," and hoped Aizawa would understand I meant that part for him.

Taking his own look at the car in the distance, Mogi eased closer. "Anyway, I'll have to frisk you. I hope you don't mind."

Absently lifting my arms, I let him check me over while I stared at the yellow box, but by the time I remembered he wasn't supposed to know about the wire, he'd already stood up again and frowned down at me. Quietly, he asked, "Are you wearing a wire?"

I gave a jerky nod.

"Why?"

I shrugged. "In case something goes wrong."

Standing back, he folded his arms and focused hard my beat-up face. Compared to Aizawa and Ide, he'd always beens to hard to read; I could tell him the wildest stuff, only to have him study me with that unblinking, soulful gaze, not letting on to his thoughts. This time, at least, I could tell he was concerned.

Ashamed of my weakness, I turned away. "I'll take it off, if you want. I mean, I'd rather not…but I will."

After thinking a moment, he decided. "If it makes you feel better, it should stay." And then he gestured for me to walk ahead of him.

I took a long look back over my shoulder, where I could still see the car, and then shuffled forward, more reluctant than ever.

"Nothing's going to go wrong," he told me, when we'd gone a moment in silence.

He wouldn't let anything go wrong. He was just as capable as Aizawa and Ide, and he knew Near. His presence should comfort me.

"I know. This place…just makes me nervous."

Mogi nodded and then changed the subject. "You look good. Been working out?"

"Yep." I flashed him a grin, grateful to think about anything other than the present situation. "Every morning. I try to do some lifting, but usually, I run. I eat healthier, too."

"It shows."

"I'm surprised you haven't put on any weight; working with L seems like a lot of sitting."

"Oh." He patted his midsection. "I hide it well." That was just politeness, though. At thirty-six, he was in great shape.

"Worth it, though, right? Man, you get to travel _all_ the time. I'm so jealous! Maybe I should see if I can come work with you guys!"

"It sounds like you're doing fine where you are."

"I dunno." I tried not to frown, tried not to let my scathing feelings spoil this moment with Mogi. "Lately it feels like the NPA doesn't appreciate dedication."

He paused long enough I didn't think he'd ever respond, but then, quietly, he assured me,"We'll get it figured out," and I knew he'd understood my real meaning.

"I don't see how," I admitted. We were nearing the door, and my hands had started to shake worse than ever. My tongue delved into the cavity of my missing tooth where I thought I felt sutures, and a shudder wracked my body.

Mogi paused and stared down at me, and I knew it wasn't like me to be so pessimistic.

"I just don't know anything," I explained.

Instead of commenting, though, he suddenly asked, "Matsu… What is it?"

Given the circumstances, the question was weird, and I hardly knew where to start—my beat up hands and stinging feet, my missing teeth, how bad I wanted to go home, how much I missed my girlfriend—all of that was just inconvenience compared to my real problem.

I blurted out, "Director Boko says I killed some people."

Mogi's eyebrows dipped in confusion.

"I can't remember it, but he says my weapon and my fingerprints were there. And…" Fighting another shudder, I thought back to the image of the man standing over me with the hypodermic needle, and the gently malicious smile on his mouth. "There's this blank spot… I mean, there are a lot of blank spots, but there's a big blank spot… I don't know where I was…for _days_, Mogi. I'm not even sure I was conscious. I—"

I shut my mouth, remembering suddenly that Aizawa and Ide could hear every word.

Aware of it too, Mogi shifted and glanced around us, staring back at the car, and then ahead at the yellow box. "What are you saying?"

"I don't really know…" I raked the hair back from my bruised forehead. "But there's more to this than just someone prying about the notebook. If I can't clear my name…" Desperately, I looked up at him, hoping against hope that he might have the answers. "Aizawa can't protect me from that—I know that, and so does he."

Mogi's silence lasted a long time, and he was usually so quiet, I began to expect he'd never reply—he didn't have the answers—but then he said, "It's paramount to L that the notebook remains secure; he's not going to drop this until he knows exactly who these people are and what their angle is. I assume the answers you need will be included in that discovery."

That was probably exactly what Aizawa and Ide meant when they told me Near would sort everything out, but Mogi, for talking so little, had always been twice as articulate as either of them.

"Yeah," I agreed. "It's just that things were going so good. Now I don't know what to think."

"Tell it all to Near," he recommended, moving toward the door. "He'll come up with the answer."

Still, I froze just outside, heart starting to hammer again, so wildly that, this time, I wasn't sure I could stand the feel and sound of it; beyond that thin screen of steel, I knew the memories gusted around like ghosts.

* * *

**Mogi**

* * *

I'd never planned to return to the yellow box, and the dire, industrial sight of it, the sounds of fans whirling and our shoes scraping across concrete, the pervading scents of stagnant water, and the taste of iron in my mouth drew me, easily, back to the day they'd brought me here, the beginning of so many ends.

That was the last day I saw Misa alive and well—the beginning of my terrible guilt over what happened to her—the day everything shattered—my images of Light and Matsuda included—the day I stopped feeling connected to the NPA and began to feel like my life was a crowded cage I needed to escape from.

Beside me, Matsuda shuffled, so altered from the first time we'd come here—older and more world-weary—hardly any comfort in this realm of dark memories when he'd always been a bright point in the shadows. Here, so much of his innocence, gullibility, and joy had been sullied by betrayal and heartache. Here, he'd gunned down someone he'd loved, and the spiral that action had shoved his life into seemed to continue on and on, down further and further, until I had no idea where he'd land.

Through our phone calls, I'd gotten the impression that his depression had more or less been assuaged by various triumphs in his professional and personal life, but all of this was still happening because of Kira, and I couldn't help wondering how much of it was happening because he'd _shot_ Kira.

That link, though, if I ever focused on it at all, would have to be dwelled upon later, because in due time, we entered the warehouse's main room.

With the other three standing at attention around him, Near knelt on the floor, tugging obsessively at his hair, but his expression revealed no impatience, despite the fact that it had taken me a good while longer than it should have to escort Matsuda in.

Already, Matsuda was freezing up, scanning the room with wide eyes, mouth halfway open as he, inevitably, located the spot where Kira had fallen, terrified expression fixed upon it, waxy-skinned.

Dutifully, I nudged him toward Near.

After all, this location made logical sense. Near still owned it, we all knew its location, and the interview should only last a few minutes before Near could solve the problem, and we all got on with our respective lives.

"Hello, Mr. Matsuda," Near greeted in his emotionless but polite way.

Matsuda muttered, "Hey," tone indicative of how he must already be losing himself to the memories.

Next, Near turned expectantly to me, so I said, "No guns, no wires."

Matsuda shifted, and I stayed careful not to glance at him. If his battered face and bandaged hands were any indication, he'd recently been through quite a trauma, meaning Aizawa could have equipped him with a wire strictly as a measure of putting him at ease once he'd learned Matsuda had to come in here alone.

Never mind that they must have planned to have him wear it even before they found out Near had no interest in talking with Aizawa or Ide. I'd rather not consider that trust may have broken down between the three of them and myself since I went away, but not mentioning the wire seemed like a good method of showing them that I at least still trusted them_._

Possibly, they'd equipped it as a way to record the conversation.

The wire didn't matter anyway. There was nothing for Aizawa and Ide to overhear or that Matsuda wouldn't tell them later, just like there was nothing sinister lying beneath the meeting in the first place.

I nudged Matsuda, casually, hoping he knew that too.

"We may as well get down to business," Near decided. Momentarily, he set his hand on the ground, but not finding anything to fidget with, it ventured back to his hair at once. "I need you to tell me exactly what you know, without leaving anything out."

"Right," Matsuda breathed.

"Even the most insignificant detail could be crucial. Do you understand?"

Matsuda jerked his head, stiffly.

After watching him a moment, Near prompted, "I'd like to get to the bottom of this as soon as possible."

I nudged Matsu again, and he began, in a shaky voice, explaining how he'd been kidnapped and how he'd eventually made his way back to civilization, but the first iteration of the story was far too vague, so Near began with his questions.

"What was the room like?"

"Small. Blank. Like a hospital room."

"And you never saw the outside of the building?"

"I never saw the outside of the _room_," Matsuda told him, and ran his tongue across his teeth.

"How many men were there? What language were they speaking? What nationality do you think they were?"

Matsuda wrinkled his nose. "I really don't know. Maybe five. I only ever heard them speak Japanese, but…some of them looked western…"

"I see," Near murmured, gazing thoughtfully at the ceiling.

"I was unconscious a lot," Matsuda explained, wincing, shifting and stamping like his feet hurt.

"Still, you must have seen their faces."

A long silence passed, and Matsuda turned to stare again at the spot where Light had fallen, eyes glazing, breath seeming to stop, until I thought he'd been consumed entirely.

Just as it occurred to me to touch him, draw him out of it, he said suddenly, "I'd recognize them if I saw them again…I just don't know how to tell you who they were."

Near drew a sharp but silent breath, an almost imperceptible tell of frustration, and then met my gaze. "At this point, it's impossible to guess how elaborate this plot might be or how long it would take to execute it, assuming someone infiltrated the taskforce member's individual lives."

"Mogi is off the table," Rester commented. "He's been with us a whole year."

"Yes, thank you, Rester. Mr. Matsuda, please think hard about the people in your life and try to decipher if there's anyone who could have been involved."

Matsuda must truly be lost, because he muttered under his breath, "I don't really notice stuff like that."

This time, the whole team seemed to sigh, and Rester even murmured, "We'll never get anywhere like this."

"No," Near disagreed, succinctly. "Without a doubt, Mr. Matsuda has all the information we need to unravel this mystery stored in his brain, it's only a matter of accessing it."

Matsuda had started biting ferociously at the knuckle of his forefinger, hand shaking violently, and I thought Rester could be right; occasionally I'd seen him get struck by instances of true insight, but for the most part Matsuda had always been painfully oblivious and much more prone to abstract thought than analysis of facts. I doubted he'd be able to answer these questions in the comfort of his own home, let alone in the place where he'd shot Kira.

That alone made this a poor location, I realized, but I couldn't determine off-hand if Near might have simply overlooked Matsuda's feelings, or if he'd intentionally chosen it to put him off-kilter.

I wondered if, depending on how this went, Near might allow me to talk with him alone, possibly outside in the sunshine.  
_Most likely not. I might miss a crucial detail._

"Well, you should at least remember what _you_ told _them_," Near decided after another short wait. "Let's hear about that."

Immediately, Matsuda started muttering again, in his unstructured way. "I have no idea what they knew when they picked me up… I guess they must have known I was on the task force." He turned to me with dampened hopes, and I realized he saw me as his only ally through all this. "That information was pretty public, right? Anybody could dig it up."

"That's true," I agreed, softly.

"They must have known better than to kidnap Aizawa or Ide… Unless they just grabbed whichever one of us was easiest… Except they took me at Sayu's house, and that's not really any different than taking Aizawa from Eriko or Ide from Kei. I guess they must have wanted me specifically because they knew I'd talk easiest. Not that it was easy…" Slowly, he took his knuckle away from his teeth and turned his wide stare on Near again, speaking louder. "I tried not to tell them anything, believe me, I held out as long as I could, but…I suck at that… They wore me down. Yeah. They must have known. There's no way. By the second night, I think I'd already told them I was part of the task force, I helped apprehend Kira, and that…" he choked. "I told them…if they let me go…I could help them be like Kira."

Not very long, then. Those who didn't know him very well might believe he'd simply blurted it out, idiotically, but I felt certain drawing that information from him would take some doing, if only because he knew Aizawa had been interrogated over it. For him to breathe a word about the death note, though, especially in such a short amount of time, must have been prompted by excruciating pain.

A dreadful cold gripped my heart.

Scared he'd go into detail, I interrupted. "Did they ask you to help them be like Kira?"

Vigorously, he nodded. "Yeah. That's what they wanted. They kept asking—how did Kira kill? How can we do the same thing?"

"Mr. Mogi," Near called, "please don't interrupt. Mr. Matsuda, if it only took them twenty-four hours to get that out of you, how long did it take them to get the information about the notebook?"

Matsuda's shoulders slumped with shame. "Not much longer. Forty-eight hours, maybe. I remember how weird they all looked at me when I explained the notebook. Some of them even thought I must be insane from pain…"

I gritted my teeth, and an unfamiliar anger had started to come to life inside me. Odd as he was, I'd never minded letting Matsu follow me around and prattle thoughtlessly. I'd never been as hard on him as the others. In fact, some of my fondest memories in my life were of the brief, unconventional summer days when he and Misa and I had roamed Tokyo together. I'd already replaced him as her bodyguard and manager at that point, but I think he'd been too enamored with her to let that role go so easily, and, truth be told, my heart had always lightened some to have her on one side of me and him on the either, both so absorbed in bickering and playing and laughing, sometimes I had to keep them from walking into traffic. Even before that, something in it had gladdened me when I'd walk into a room to the chorus of them cheering out, welcome back, Mochi! nearly in unison.

The Misa of those days was dead now, and the Matsuda from that time, as well, seemed to be gone. All of that had broken my heart already. Now, some degenerate had taken Matsuda and tortured him near to the point of insanity.

Matsuda went on, "They said, he'll say anything to get out of here by now, we should just kill him, but their boss was smart. He believed me about the notebook."

"Did he really?" Near asked quietly, and tilted his head to think. "If that was all within the first forty-eight hours, what happened to the other seventy-two?"

Closing his eyes, lightly, Matsuda shook his head. "I guess he didn't believe me right away. I think…on the third day, all he did was ask again and again about the notebook, trying to figure out how it worked and if it was actually possible. I told him I could show it to him. I could _bring _it to him."

My body stiffened, and I couldn't help asking, "Why?"

Blinking in confusion, Matsuda looked up at me. "What do you mean? He was torturing me."

Like most things, he blurted the words out without a thought to how it might affect any listeners, leaving me reeling for several moments. Aizawa had gone to obvious lengths to moderate what he'd told me about Matsuda's condition, calling it a little banged up when he'd clearly gotten the daylights beaten out of him, using terms like forced and coerced in lieu of tortured, but he should have realized Matsuda would make the truth all too clear.

"Did you honestly believe that might be a possibility?" Near wondered.

"I don't know." Matsuda scraped his bandaged fingers through the back of his hair. "I guess…" For a long time, he hesitated there, and I knew he didn't want to finish. "Yeah. I told him I knew someone who works with L." He slid a nervous glance at me. "I told him I could get in contact with you and try to find a way to get the notebook for him."

"Then you did tell him L has the notebook," Near said, sounding like he felt like we were finally getting somewhere.

"Of course I did," Matsuda said hopelessly. "It was the only thing I could think of to save my life."

If only bull-headed, do-it-yourself Aizawa had let me know Matsu was missing; maybe I could have found him.

_We're lucky he's not dead._

"How many details did you disclose about my team?"

I admired, in that moment, Near's uncanny ability to stay emotionless in difficult circumstances. Even I felt tremendously rattled, down to my core, and had even begun to scan the building for danger, though I doubted Aizawa would have been careless enough to let anyone follow him here.

"As many as I could," Matsuda said. "I told him everything I know about you, I gave him physical descriptions of your people." He jerked his head at Rester, Gevanni, and Lidner. "I told him all kinds of stuff about Mogi." There, he drew a painful breath and grasped his abdomen like it hurt. "Sorry, Mogi… Really sorry… They know everything about you—everything _I _know about you."

"I'd imagine that's quite a lot," Near said in a conversational tone, "seeing how the two of you worked together for so long."

I pondered what Matsuda did know about me. Usual things, I supposed—where I'd grown up, who my family was, how long I'd been on the force, what kind of investigator I was. There were weak spots in there, without a doubt.

"They might try to use Mogi against us," Rester murmured, and his pale eyes roamed the warehouse as well, taking in every detail, one hand on his gun.

I told him, calmly, "I will not compromise the notebook for anything."

Rester merely nodded.

"That's seventy-two hours of detainment," Near said, getting back on track. "What about the last forty-eight?"

There, Matsuda balked, shifting his weight, chewing his knuckle again, threading his fingers through his hair, and the alarm on his face became more evident than ever.

"Mr. Matsuda," Near prodded. "I'm sure none of this is easy to think about, but it's extremely important."

"There's…a blank spot," Matsuda sputtered at last. "I don't know how long…but I must have been unconscious…maybe for the whole two days. My director…says I killed some people. There's evidence against me. Maybe they put me under so they could frame me."

"Or you really killed those people," Near suggested, glibly. "Who are these dead men?"

"I don't know anything about them," Matsuda answered, not without resentment. "They tell me they were part of a syndicate we've been dealing with for a while. Beyond that, I just have no idea. And I don't understand how I could kill anyone without realizing it."

"That would be something," Near agreed, in a far-away tone.

I felt the need to say, "Matsuda's no killer."

"Why would anyone do that anyway?" Rester snorted.

"Good question," Near murmured. "What does any of that have to do with the death note?"

"What happened after you came to?" I asked Matsuda suddenly, and I was beginning to feel afraid—for him, for myself, for everything and everyone I had left—I wanted answers.

Matsuda's eyes narrowed, and his mouth winced. "Nothing. They left me alone for a while after that. And then knocked me out again. The next time I woke up, I was free. No sign of anyone."

How bizarre. How horrifying.

Though it pleased me to know Near trusted me and valued my skills enough to let me be present during this highly personal matter, I wished I hadn't had to listen to any of the dreadful things Matsuda had said or endure any of the images those words created in my mind, of his being afraid and in pain.

"And you don't have _anything_," Rester asked, with a note of skepticism, "that could lead us to these people?"

Licking his teeth again, Matsuda shook his head. "If I do, I don't know about it."

"Incredible," Rester grumbled. In addition to people typically not taking Matsuda seriously, I supposed a seasoned man like himself thought he would have gotten through that appalling scenario with some clear path to all the answers, and I supposed he was right. As best I could guess, Matsuda had blocked out a lot of the answers he might have as a measure of protecting his mind from trauma.

"I've decided," Near announced, "this won't be very difficult."

Everyone looked at him, shocked.

"If they simply let you go," he said, "it's possible they've decided the notebook isn't worth coming after, but judging by the sadistic, criminal nature you described, I doubt that. It's much more likely that they think they can use your connection to Mr. Mogi as a way to reach me."

"Then…" Gevanni stammered, eyes rolling, "they could be coming here right now."

"I have faith that Mr. Aizawa would have taken precautions to prevent that. That being said, we have very little time to work with."

"We could leave Japan," Lidner suggested. "If we go now, they'll never be able to trace us." She glanced furtively at me. "But Mogi would have to make sure he cuts all ties with Matsuda…or with us."

That shouldn't sound like such an impossible choice, and yet it did.

Near disagreed anyway. "It's much more important that we catch the culprit behind this, and that means setting a trap. I doubt it will be difficult." Lowering his hand again, at last, he said to Matsuda, "I appreciate your cooperation, and I'm sorry to have to ask you to go through anything else, but I need your help."

"Yeah…" Matsuda muttered, in a guilty tone. "That's fine. This is all my fault anyway."

"I wouldn't say that. For now, though, I suggest you go back to your chief and let him know we'll be in touch."

Being somewhat familiar with Near's tactics, I assumed that was in fact the first step of his plan, and then I even felt relieved at the realization. He was right—it shouldn't be difficult, assuming someone was watching Matsuda already.

Matsu nodded. "Would you mind," he requested in a tentative, respectful tone, "if I just looked at the notebook really quick?"

It was a direct contrast to the blunt, demanding way Aizawa would have gone about it, but Near studied him, thoughtfully.

"Just because," Matsuda explained, glancing at me for back up, "my superior specifically asked me to. To make sure it's real…"

Noticing the exchange of glances between us, Near turned to me also.

I nodded to show that I had no doubt it would be okay. If nothing else was clear in this situation, I knew Matsuda was the victim, and he'd want to do everything in his power to help resolve this.

"Very well," Near agreed tonelessly.

Rester argued. "Are you sure? That doesn't seem wise."

"We're all on the same side," Near assured him. "Mr. Matsuda helped bring Kira to justice, and as long as the notebook's security could be compromised, we'd be smart to work together and trust one another." He jerked his chin at Lidner.

Reluctantly, she eased forward, drawing the notebook out of her coat.

Matsu breathed a quiet sigh of relief as she handed it to him, but I noticed his hands still shook. After a brief pause, he looked carefully around the room and then lowered his head to thumb through the pages. "So…there's no shinigami attached to it?"

"Not that we're aware of," Near answered.

I didn't know if Matsuda possessed the skills required to authenticate the notebook, though he'd at least recognize Misa's handwriting, still, he took his time examining it, expression darkening with every name he read.

"I'm surprised you didn't destroy it…" he commented in time.

"The rule that destroying it will result in the death of everyone who's ever touched it may or may not be true," Near explained, watching him sharply. "Nevertheless, we decided not to risk it."

Matsuda nodded, mechanically, but a tight frown ruled his normally amiable mouth.

"As long as we're able to safeguard it and keep knowledge of it from the general population, there should be no problem." Near tugged his hair, still studying Matsuda intently. "Which brings me to my last question. Did you tell them anything else about Kira?"

"Like what?" Matsuda murmured, distractedly.

"Depending on who they were, any information regarding Kira could be quite dangerous, but also, if they've infiltrated the NPA, the taskforce, or you specifically, especially with the intention of getting to Mogi through your connection, they might have asked to know something they could use against you."

Matsuda hesitated, and then looked up at Near, a puzzled but apprehensive expression on his face. "Wait. What do you mean?"

"I'm asking," Near explained, slowly, "if you told them that Kira was actually Light Yagami."

Matsuda's spine went rigid.

* * *

**Matsuda**

* * *

_I have the notebook. Step one of the directive._

Halle Lidner stood next to me. Younger than me, but taller, stern, practiced, like all of them. She wore a gun on her hip. A Glock 23. Not much different from my M1911 or Glock 17.

_I know how to use that._

Shutting the notebook with a thump, I took a step toward her. She reached out to take it. I snatched her wrist, dragging her close and kneeing her in the stomach.

Gasping, she sagged.

Mogi shouted my name, just as I ripped the gun from Lidner's holster.

"Shit!" Rester and Gevanni drew down, pointing their guns at me. With less than twenty yards between us, they'd have no trouble hitting their mark. One well-aimed shot from a forty cal would kill me.

I turned toward them, lifting Lidner's pistol.

"Wait!" Mogi leapt between us, arms spread. Eyes bulging, he turned to look at me. "Touta!"

I pistol-whipped the back of his neck, letting him slump at my feet, and then clenched a handful of Lidner's hair, just as she started to recover her breath. I pressed the black muzzle into the cornsilk blonde and leveled my eyes on Near.

As soon as our gazes touched, he ordered, "Drop your guns."

Mogi writhed.

Reluctantly, Rester and Gevanni threw their guns down.

I stuffed the notebook easily into the band of my slacks and dragged Lidner, sniveling, back toward the door with me.

"Wh-what are you doing?" she gasped. Her fingernails cut into my wrist.

"Don't struggle," I warned her. "I will shoot you."

_I have the notebook. Step one of the directive._

_ Take it to Tero. Step two of the directive._

Lidner went all but limp in my arms, intentionally trying to make it difficult to haul her with me.

I fired a pop shot toward her team.

Gasping, she started to walk again.

As I sank back into the shadows of the hall, Near kept both eyes on me. He'd finally stopped playing with his hair.

At the exit, I slammed Lidner against the doorway hard enough to stun her, and stepped over her, gun still pointed back into the shadows. Rester and Gevanni would be after me the moment they knew Lidner was safe.

_Take the notebook to Tero. Take the notebook to Tero._

That voice…that feeling. It was irresistible.

Briefly, I paused in the middle of the road, but if I stood there very long, Near's team would come after me. Aizawa and Ide would drive up. I knew Near's team would gun me down to get the death note back, I didn't think Aizawa and Ide would be able to prevent that.

_Take the notebook to Tero._

High in the sky, I heard the beating propellers of a helicopter, descending toward my location. Off in the distance, a car engine drew nearer. Behind me, voices shouted.

_I should have held onto Lidner longer._

No. She was heavy, and I couldn't take the chance that they'd be willing to kill her too.

I dashed off the road, across a concrete lot, and swung myself over a chain link fence, landing smoothly on the other side and running toward the edge of the wharf, right as the chopper swept in.

Behind me, yelling rang out, followed by gunshots, but with more than fifty yards between us now, they probably wouldn't hit me.

I fired back over my shoulder, just to psyche them out.

_That's two bullets wasted. Eleven left._

Hard to say if I'd need eleven rounds. It might not be enough.

But the helicopter ducked low, hovering just beside me, and I slowed to a jog to watch a man with strapping shoulders lean through the doorway and offer me his hand. His top row of teeth glittered gold as he called out, "Let's go!"

_Get the notebook. Take it to Tero._

Behind me, the fence rattled as Rester and Gevanni began to climb. Rester looked strong, but slow; Gevanni looked quick, but weak. Rester had little hope of catching me. Gevanni had little hope of beating me in hand to hand combat.

_They can shoot me though._

I could just as easily shoot them.

Eleven rounds. Two men. It was just a matter of who could move fastest.

Once Aizawa and Ide showed up, I might get caught in the crossfire of a gunfight; there was no way I'd survive that. Whoever was on the helicopter might not want to kill me right away.

With a burst of speed, I sprang from the dock and onto the chopper, grasping the hand that reached out to me, and the meaty westerner dragged me up into the cockpit.

"It worked!" he crowed in English, red hair flying. "I can't believe it actually worked!"

Another man was there also; he was big too, less muscle and more fat. Either one of them could overpower me.

"Let's see it!" Golden Teeth held his hands out, eagerly. Much too eagerly. I remembered those golden teeth, suddenly, laughing in my face, sneering and mocking, threatening to kill me.

_Take the notebook to Tero._

I handed it over to him, just as his fat friend twisted the Glock 23 from my grip and aimed a his own 40 cal at my head. I glanced sidelong at the 44 Mag hanging from Golden Teeth's grip. Obeying looked like the best way to stay alive until I figured out what they had in mind for me.

A second passed, and they babbled to each other in what sounded lik English.

Silently, I stood back and watched them. Golden Teeth had bronze hair and blue eyes. Tribal tattoos covered his rippling biceps. The fat man looked more Asian, but with a darker complexion than mine, and a flat nose that had been broken in the past. In the cockpit, I saw the back of the pilot's bald head.

"Unbelievable!" Golden Teeth exalted, leafing through the notebook. "Just like you said—Kira's notebook." He flashed his golden grin at me, and the next words out of his mouth came too fast for me to understand, but he finished with, "Whiny cunt."

Floods of memories came back to me, of this man wailing on me, calling me names, making perverted threats, while Tero stood back and watched. I remembered his steel-toed work boot nailing me in the ribs, and the way he'd spat, "Whiny cunt," with his vicious attitude and terrible accent.

"What now?" the fat man wondered, looking me up and down with mistrustful eyes.

Golden Teeth waved his gun at me, still absorbed in reading through the death note. "Oh, yeah, execute him."

_Execute…_

I glanced through the helicopter door at the choppy water. I could swim okay, but they'd shoot me like a fish in a barrel if I jumped. Or some shark might come along and just eat me.

The fat man blinked at him. "You sure?"

"Yep. Do it now." Golden Teeth grinned at me, expectantly, and then sighed exaggeratedly and said in clumsy Japanese, "I guess I'd have to un-program you if I wanted to hear you beg for your life."

The chopper was climbing quickly, drifting over the ocean, stirring up waves.

_Out? Or death?_

Going out might mean death after we'd gotten high enough.

_Get the notebook. Bring it to Tero._

"On second thought," Golden Teeth decided, when I still had nothing to say. "Rip the GPS out of his mouth."

My tongue touched the cracked molar at the back of the right side of my mouth.

"And then kill him." Languidly, he waved his pistol around, still keeping it pointed in my general direction. "We'll dump his body some place no one will ever find it."

Sadistic. What had I done to make him hate me?

I remembered spitting in his face and calling him a pig fucker. Wow. I was really angry when that happened. He shouldn't hold that against me.

_He hated me a long time before that._

Chortling, the fat man came toward me, producing a pair of pliers. I remembered him too, pissing in my food, gleefully pressing my skull beneath his heavy heel until I thought my brains would burst from my ears. His Japanese was worse than Golden Teeth's. "So. If I say to hold still, should you? You ain't got many self left in there, right?"

"Much self," I corrected, shouting to be heard over the propellors. "I haven't got _much_ self! How long have you been in Japan?"

Golden Teeth and the fat man exchanged a disbelieving look, and then Golden Teeth said in slow, careful Japanese. "Rip all his teeth out. I'm gonna make him suck my dick before we kill him."

Fatso smiled like that was the best idea he'd heard all day. Meanwhile, the chopper lifted higher.

Soon, going out wouldn't be an option.

I kept an eye on the fat man's Sig. Taking a bullet to the brain wasn't an option at all.

Golden Teeth cared more about reading through the notebook, trying to pronounce foreign names, than he did about watching the fat man yank teeth out of my head.

The fat man stuck his gun in my face, too close. "Open your mouth, kiddie."

Lazily, I smashed his wrist against the chopper's open door, knocking the heavy 40 out of his hand, and then twisted his arm behind his back. He squealed like a pig.

Golden Teeth looked up, sputtering curses, and clumsily readjusting his aim, trying to be cute and get a headshot instead of simply shooting me. He obviously had no idea what he was doing with the heavy Mag.

_Amateur._

I kicked the fat man in the back of the knees, and ducked behind him, just as Golden Teeth pulled his trigger.

In a spray of crimson and brains, the fat man's head blew apart, and he collapsed forward. I ripped Lidner's Glock 23 from his belt and squeezed the trigger.

Yelping, Golden Teeth dropped his gun and crumpled back, holding the notebook to his chest. "You little bitch!"

The pilot shouted something, but I couldn't hear him over the propellers.

Not waiting to see if I'd hit my mark, I sprang from the helicopter, diving straight down into the ocean.

Like a bag of rocks, I hit the icy, rolling water and sink deep. The Glock should fire, wet or dry, so I focused on hanging onto it and fixed my gaze toward the shining surface, kicking hard.

Gasping, I breached, tossing wet hair from my eyes and scanning the water around me. Overhead, the chopper lingered, and then began to lift higher, drifting away.

_Get the notebook. Get the notebook. Get the notebook. Get the notebook._

I'd have to find another way.

I began to swim.


	8. Chapter 8

**Aizawa**

* * *

Pedal to the floor, white-knuckling the steering wheel, I kept my eyes on the helicopter.

A waft of cigarette smoke hit me as Ide shouted, "What the _fuck_ just happened?"

Everything had been going normally—as normal as practically emotionless Near questioning overly emotional Matsuda could go—and then, out of nowhere, complete chaos. Shouting, gunshots, Matsuda's voice saying, tonelessly, things that Matsuda would never say. Rattling, banging, the scream of the helicopter engine and blades. Just noise I couldn't make sense of. I'd taken my headset off, and, now, careening through the wharf, weaving around buildings and plowing through obstacles, was the best I could do.

"Matsuda's on that helicopter," Ide expanded. "But why? Fucking why_?_ Who's flying that thing?"

Shiny black, it hovered out over the water, stirring waves and getting further away with every passing second. It looked like a private model—not military—but it wasn't Japanese manufactured. Anybody might be flying it—yakuza, a foreign government, someone from the NPA, for all I knew—and if it carried him off somewhere, I'd have no idea how to ever get Matsuda back.

_Dammit!_ In my tight chest, my heart raced.

All of this had been a mistake. I shouldn't have let him go into the yellow box alone—he hadn't wanted to—regardless of what L said. No. I shouldn't have let him leave my house… Fuck that. I should never have let him out of my sight again after he shot Kira.

Some of the things he'd told Near… They made my blood boil and my stomach curdle, and my mind kept trying to go back to what I'd seen happen to Chiba—what I'd allowed to happen to Chiba—it seemed I'd failed Matsuda even worse than I'd realized.

_Don't think about that right now._

Racing up to the water's edge and speeding along it, I watched the helicopter climb higher. Something slammed into my bumper, and an orange traffic barrel hurdled over my head.

Ide gasped, "Shuichi…"

A figure appeared in the doorway of the chopper and flung themselves out, dropping almost thirty meters into the turbulent ocean. It looked like him.

_"_Shu, Shu, Shu!" Ide punched me over and over in the arm. "_Shuichi! _The_ road!"_

I looked up just in time to see a wall, blocking me off.

Spinning the wheel and slamming the brake, I felt the car bank up on its right side, and we screeched to a stop, just short of smashing into the concrete.

As soon as we were still, I dove from my seat and sprinted across the dock.

"Shuichi!" Ide roared. "Get your fucking head together, man!"

"Matsuda!" I yelled back at him.

"I know, I know," he growled, dashing up on my left. "Fucking Matsuda will be the fucking death of you!"

Side by side, we raced to the pier, where Matsuda dragged himself onto the dock with ease. I didn't know if I wanted to punch him or hug him.

"Matsuda!" I barely thought to slow down before going ass over tea kettle into the ocean.

He stood up, shaking the water from his pistol first and then whipping his hair around like a wet dog.

"Matsu!" I trotted to him. "Are you—?"

Quick as a striking snake, he swung around and fired.

The bullet blew right past my head. I slammed to a halt, staring at him.

If he'd been off by even a degree, I'd be dead. I'd never seen anyone, other than him, fire with such speed and accuracy.

"Holy shit!" Ide raised his pistol.

Dripping wet, suit clinging to his lean frame, Matsuda stood in perfect shooting form, the gun pointed, unwavering, at my face.

Seeing Matsuda with a gun was so normal to me, it took me a moment to realize he hadn't been armed when he went into the yellow box, and the 40 cal he held now, ready to blow my head apart, wasn't his. He must have taken it from someone.

I lifted my hands, even as my mouth fell open.

Earlier, he'd been terrified to walk into an abandoned building by himself—like Tomiichi at a haunted house—I could still hear him complaining into the mic about how unfair it was; and yet Ide's pistol threatening to blow his face apart seemed not to mean anything to him. Having his own gun aimed at _me_ didn't faze him in the slightest.

"Y-you little prick…" I croaked. "Whatever's gotten into you…you'd better simmer down."

I'd seen him angry—furious, distraught, irrational, and even violent—but I had never been afraid of him until right then, when I saw the unforgiving ice that had taken over his face, and I thought to myself, _he has no idea who I am._

That was a small comfort. But remembering how easily he'd blown the pen out of Kira's hand, or how simply he'd shot Akki Toyoshi, even with me in the way, his not recognizing me helped very little to ease the freight train barreling between my lungs.

"Matsu…" I tried again, more insistently, but I could hardly speak through my dry lips. "We don't want to shoot you."

"Then get out of my way, Aizawa," he ordered coldly.

The freight train derailed at the sound of my name. He still knew who I was. I wasn't too late. "Whatever's wrong…" I told him, "I can help you. Just put the gun down."

"There's no time," he informed me, but he didn't look impatient. No, the frantic, anxious Matsuda who should have been there, whining about getting drenched and raking bangs from his eyes, scared to death from jumping out of a helicopter, was nowhere to be found. Instead, that callous stranger stared at me out of his maple eyes.

"The notebook is on that helicopter," he explained, and then said in a finite tone, "I have to get it."

"Okay," I dared to wave my hand at Ide. "Let's all put our guns down. And we'll get to work on that."

Neither of them listened.

Lowly, Ide snarled, "Get your sights off the chief, dumb fuck." Granite eyes didn't so much as blink as he watched Matsuda, and I knew he'd shoot him. I just doubted he could outgun him.

"Everybody calm down," I insisted, and looked earnestly into Matsuda's eyes. "You don't have to do this. It's okay. It's us."

Almost imperceptibly, he inclined his head forward and slid a brief glanced back toward the yellow box. "If Rester and Gevanni catch me, I'll never get the notebook."

"I'll help you get it."

Of course, I would have to no matter what. Yet, I never would have expected him to be so stalwart in his duty, and none of it explained why he had a gun to my head in the first place. It was just the only thing I could think of to get through to him.

He studied me, but not thoughtfully, not indecisively, not curiously. No. Little Matsu looked me in the eyes and analyzed the fuck out of those five simple words, as if deciding whether or not to believe them.

I searched for the words that could reach him.

"Give me your gun, we'll go back to your apartment." As far as I knew, he wanted that more than nearly anything else in the world right now. "We'll talk it over. We'll figure out where the notebook went."

Likely, none of that was an option at this point. Right now, I had to focus on the gun. Unless I convinced him to hand it over, we were both about to die.

_When she left the house this morning, I promised Eriko everything's all right. If I don't make it home…_

No, no. Matsuda was not going to shoot me. He was too good with the gun to make that mistake, and he cared too much about me. I just had to remind him of that.

Still holding my hands up, I eased toward the kid, saying very gently, "Touta, I want to help you."

With a slow, steady blink, he suddenly jammed the unfamiliar pistol into the back of his slacks. "I'm not giving the my gun," he announced, leaving no room for argument. "And we can't go to my house. We have to go to the station."

Slowly, I dropped my hands, still staring as I drew a tremendous breath of relief.

"What's at the station?" Ide lowered his pistol, shaking so bad I expected him to drop it.

Matsuda stepped past us, supremely calm, as if nothing had happened at all. "I'll need the NPA's resources if I want to get the notebook."

Quickly, Ide and I glanced at each other, and then scrambled after him.

"What is it with you and the notebook suddenly?" Ide asked, voice still wavering. "I've never known you to be so…dutiful."

Matsuda didn't answer.

"What's the notebook doing on that helicopter in the first place?" Ide went on. "Who's flying that thing?" He paused to stare across the ocean, to where the helicopter had become a glinting speck.

"Criminals," Matsuda huffed.

"Wait a minute." Ide hurried to catch up again. "Did you give it to them?"

"That's right," Matsuda replied, still in that chilly tone. "Now I have to get it back."

Again, Ide met my gaze, forehead ribbed with his confusion and ill-concealed worry.

"Did they threaten you?"

"Not exactly."

Clearly, Matsuda was more than a little tense, and this wasn't the time for questions, so I muttered, "Let's get to the bottom of that later."

Not so much as pausing to stare at the way I'd left my car running, doors open, all but rammed against a wall, Matsuda took the driver's seat, backing out and peeling away almost before we could jump inside.

"Dammit, Matsuda!" Ide yelled, leaning forward to glare at the kid's impassive face. "What is wrong with you?"

Already, the speedometer hovered close to a hundred kph, and Matsuda kept both eyes on the road, sharp with a focus I'd barely seen before. With smooth control and unprecedented levels of confidence, he gripped the wheel in one hand and stuck the other out the window, letting it ride the wind, and the uncontrollable trembling I'd witnessed in his hands for the past two days had suddenly stopped.

All that nervous energy must have gotten transferred to me somehow, I decided, because now _I_ felt shaky and nauseated, unable to stop rubbing my goatee, unable to even blink as I studied the expression of new apathy on Matsuda's face.

In the back, Ide muttered a string of curses under his breath and lit a cigarette.

Still not taking my eyes off Matsu, I put my hand back to request one also.

"No," Ide grumped. "I'm sick of Eriko bitching at me."

"Don't be an ass," I ordered, feebly, and then he handed me one, but not without more complaints.

The cigarette helped settle my nerves, slightly, but I kept watching Matsuda, sure the situation would catch up with him at any second. It had to. It would hit him what he'd just been through, that bizarre level of calm would fall away, and he'd go back to normal, babbling excuses, issuing apologies, saying whatever entered his head, like always.

After everything he'd suffered over the past week, I wouldn't even be surprised if he suddenly had a panic attack. I'd be having a panic attack already if I were him.

Still, Matsuda just drove, pulling back onto the expressway, where he quickly reached 150 kph, weaving heedlessly around cars, seemingly oblivious to danger.

In all the time I'd known him, he'd only ever driven like an old woman, puttering along at the speed limit, showing great courtesy to other drivers, and simply apologizing when anyone criticized. It hadn't taken more than a couple trips with him for me to realize I didn't have the patience to be his passenger, and now, out of nowhere, it was scary.

"Where _is_ the fire?" Ide demanded. "You're driving worse than Aizawa!"

"We have to get the notebook back," Matsuda replied, coolly. "Remember?"

"How could I forget? It's all you'll talk about."

Whatever had happened inside the yellow box, maybe it had simply pushed him over an emotional edge and, soon, he'd snap out of it.

I even asked him, "You okay?" just to see if I could help kick start that process.

Matsuda didn't answer. Poor kid had apparently collapsed into the recesses of his own mind, unable to cope with any of his more recent trauma. He shouldn't be driving in this state.

"Hey, Matsu…" I reached out to touch his shoulder. "You all right?"

"Oh, you're talking to me," he said, tonelessly. "I thought you were talking to Ide."

"Why would he be asking if I'm okay?" Ide squawked, sounding more than usually frazzled. "You're the one who looks like a drowned rat."

But Matsuda only shrugged and resumed his silence, leaving me to sit back and study him all the harder, not sure if I trusted this flinty version of him. It wasn't like the day he'd shot Light; he'd gone almost completely catatonic after that, but there'd had been evidence of his fear and panic in everything he did and every face he made; this Matsuda seemed not to feel anything.

Deciding he might just need some space, I finally turned to stare out at the rapidly approaching skyscrapers and tried not to think, but the things he'd told L haunted me. After going through what sounded like pretty severe torture, I shouldn't be surprised he'd snapped from having to relive it.

_That doesn't explain why he gave the notebook to some random criminal, let alone why he shot at us_.

Quickly, I forced those thoughts away, not wanting to piece together their meaning. Emotional trauma explained it well enough, for the time being.

Outside the station, instead of looking for parking, Matsuda screamed up onto the sidewalk, all but blocking the entrance to the building, and hopped out while we sat in stunned silence.

"You can't park here!" Ide told him, scrambling out just as quickly as he'd dove in.

"It's Aizawa's car," Matsuda said, like we'd forgotten. "Nobody's gonna tow the chief of police."

"That isn't the point! Dummy!"

"You need to calm down, Matsuda," I added, but watching the way he unhurriedly glanced around, he didn't seem even slightly bothered. "What is going on with you?"

Matsuda picked his way over to me, hopefully to confide something in me that might help me make sense of his behavior, but he just said, "I need you to look inside my mouth."

I scowled. "Excuse me?"

He blinked. "Did you not hear me?" There wasn't as much as a note of sarcasm in that, only a perverse level of solemnity. "I need you to look inside my mouth, Aizawa." Accordingly, he opened wide and tilted his head back.

With an uncomfortable glance at Ide, and then at the passersby on the street, I stepped closer to him. "What am I looking _for_?"

"They said there's a GPS in there somewhere," he explained. "I think it's on the right. In one of the top molars."

Craning my head and squinting my eyes, I peered into his mouth. "A GPS?"

He nodded. "Yeah, I noticed something's been up with my teeth, but it's hard for me to see back there. The guy on the helicopter mentioned it, but I guess with all the noise, you probably didn't overhear—"

"All right, all right, stop talking." Tentatively, I cupped the side of his head, tilting it back and forth, still overly aware of the people around us, watching. "One tooth is missing." Ugly, black sutures held the swollen, bleedy gums together.

Alarmed, I looked into his eyes. "What happened to your tooth?"

"They took it out. Keep looking."

"They _took it out_?" I repeated, and behind me, Hideki issued a long string of curses. "_How_? Why?! Where did it go?"

"I don't know, Aizawa. Please keep looking."

Horrified, I stared at him for a long time, the cuts at the corners of his mouth, the swollen side of his face, and bruised lips took on new meaning, and a gut-wrenching image entered my mind, impossible to shut out. In my hand, he stood perfectly still, not at all the squirmy, anxious Matsuda he should be. I felt afraid to even touch him, but even more afraid to let go.

"At the hospital, did you tell the doctor someone yanked your tooth?"

"Aizawa." He gestured to the interior of his mouth with a bleeding finger. Torn off fingernails, missing teeth… I couldn't even _do _anything except helplessly try to shield my own mind from envisioning the horror he'd endured, and a gently roaring self-hatred began to throb inside me.

I stared into the back of his mouth again, wincing and nauseated. "The one next to that looks like it has a filling."

"I don't have any fillings."

"A cavity, then."

"I don't have any cavities."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

His teeth did look pretty close to perfect, and I vaguely remembered him bragging about all the money his parents had spent on his dentist work, and what good care he took of his teeth. To think of some criminal senselessly tearing one out…

"There's something there," I muttered.

"Is it a GPS device?"

"I have no idea." I let go of him suddenly. "I'm not a goddamn dentist."

Matsuda shut his mouth and studied me like my reaction was weird, so I amended, "I need a flashlight."

"Wait a minute," Ide said. "You're telling me they implanted a GPS in your mouth? While you were detained?"

"I guess so," Matsuda agreed simply. "I think I remember it a little bit, now." He began to lead the way to the door. "Wow, I remember a lot of things now that my emotions aren't in the way. I guess my brain blocked out a lot of that. How useless. I needed to know all this two hours ago before I met Near. Anyway, yeah, I remember them drilling in my mouth. Man, that really _hurt_."

The image of someone strapping him down, drilling without any anesthesia, turned my stomach, and yet, the way he described it, you'd think it wasn't traumatic or painful at all.

"Matsuda." I grabbed his arm, pulling him to a stop, but he faced me emotionlessly, and I had no idea what to say other than, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry…I let that happen."

"Oh." He shrugged. "You didn't. I did. If I hadn't been so scared and pathetic, it wouldn't have happened. So you might as well forget about it."

"How am I supposed to forget I let somebody _torture_ you?"

Eyebrows knit together, he craned his neck to look up at the sky, murmuring, "Torture… What a weird word." But his blasé tone sounded nothing like it had been while he was talking to Near.

We stood on the sidewalk a moment, and Ide asked, quietly, "Are you sure…you're okay?"

"Well…" Matsuda turned to throw open the station door. "I'm not hurt anyway."

"You should go to the hospital," I told him. "You seem like you're in shock."

He cocked a questioning look at me over his shoulder as he stalked through the lobby. "Shock? But I'm not bleeding."

"I mean more like acute stress reaction."

"That's weird," he mumbled, approaching the nearest maintenance closet and ignoring the greeting the receptionist extended. "I don't feel like I'm in shock."

"You're acting like maybe you are," Ide explained, with a note of impatience, and a bothered frown.

I'd never seen someone in shock act this way, but I insisted, "If you don't want to go to the hospital, you should at least sit down for a while."

Not seeming to hear, Matsuda busted the closet doorknob off with the butt of his pistol and thrust the door open.

"What the hell?" Ide blurted out.

"Hey!" I trotted the last few steps between us. "What are you doing?"

Matsuda turned another puzzled look on me, as if I was the one acting strange. "I have to get this thing out of my mouth."

"Okay?" I fumbled for words. "Yeah. That's a priority. I'm not sure, though…" I still didn't feel completely convinced there was a device in his mouth at all. "A doctor should look at it."

Not answering, he ducked into the closet.

Ide tried next. "Matsuda, what are you _doing_?"

Momentarily, he reappeared, slamming a small hammer against his palm, testing its weight, and examining the size of the head. "This should work."

"You want us to knock your tooth out with a _hammer_?" Ide practically shouted, and the people passing us in the hallway turned to stare, eventually cocking their eyebrows at me, the chief.

"Put that away," I ordered. "We are not ripping your tooth out with a hammer."

"Yeah," he agreed, after thinking a moment. "Maybe you're right." Again, he disappeared into the closet, returning this time with a pair of pliers. "These might work better."

Dumbfounded, I stared at the grimy handles and rusty nose of the tool, and Ide muttered under his breath, "Is he screwing with us?"

I wished that could be the case, but I didn't see so much as the touch of a joke in his eyes as he offered the pliers to me.

Immediately, I backed down a pace. "No, stupid, I just told you—I'm not ripping teeth out of your mouth—"

"With a hammer."

"With _anything_, Sergeant!"

His brow barely wrinkled. "Why not?"

"You must be joking," Ide groaned.

"No, I mean it. Let's go." He jerked his head toward the closet, where an ancient office chair tilted dolefully back against the wall. I just couldn't believe he actually expected us to go in there, and what? Have Ide hold him down while I…

Matching Matsuda's weighty demeanor, I said, "It'll hurt," because sometimes practicality was the only way to respond to his idiotic ideas.

Whiny Matsuda hated pain, and yet he simply shrugged, like that was to be expected.

"You'll probably get blood all over. Ruin your shirt." I pointed to the immaculate white of his collar, now stiff with brine.

None of the things that should have mattered to him, though, seemed to mean anything now. "I don't think I can do it by myself," he explained, thoughtfully running his tongue across his incisors. "Maybe if it was in the front—"

"It's a medical procedure," I cut in, losing patience. "No. We're not pulling teeth in the janitor's closet."

Again, the passersby hesitated to shoot us bewildered even alarmed looks.

I lowered my voice. "Can you really not understand that?"

"I don't know what to tell you," he decided staunchly. "I'm not going around with this thing in my mouth."

"So go to a dentist and get it removed!"

"You don't have to help, I guess." With that, jammed the dirty pliers deep into his mouth.

Ide and I pounced at the same time, and the three of us tumbled into the closet, slamming against the tool bench; while I pinned his shoulders, Ide wrenched the pliers from his hand.

I shoved him into the musty chair. "Have you lost your mind?"

But it was beginning to look like maybe he had. Where he'd normally be distraught or desperate, confused, hysterical, or at the very least indignant that we'd treated him so roughly, Matsuda merely straightened his damp suit and got up again, showing the vaguest signs of annoyance in the way he rolled his eyes. "I can't go after the notebook as long as there's a GPS in my mouth. They obviously found me on the docks because of it."

"You're not going after the notebook!" Ide exploded, hair disheveled, forehead turning red with fury. "Look how screwed up you are! No one in their right mind would let you go anywhere right now, let alone after the psycho wannabe dentist who stuck a tracking device in your mouth in the first place!"

"Ide," I counseled. "Calm—"

"Am I wrong?" He wheeled on me. "You're the boss, so tell him! Tell him he's not going anywhere unless it's the psyche ward!"

It wasn't like Ide to lose his composure so easily or to yell without real provocation, but Matsuda simply looked up at me, unbothered. "You said you'd help."

I had, but only to get a bad situation under control; I'd believed Matsuda would settle down and come around once he felt safer. I hadn't expected him to be so insistent about the notebook.

"Ide's right," I argued, trying to choose a more diplomatic tone than Hideki had. "You're in no condition to retrieve the notebook."

"I disagree." Nonchalantly, he pushed past me. "I'm in perfect condition to retrieve the notebook."

We hesitated long enough for Ide to turn a disturbed look on me. "He absolutely should not, Shuichi."

"Do you think you can talk him into going to the hospital?"

Over the years, I'd seen Hideki convince people from all different walks of life—including me—to do all sorts of things they'd rather not, but he watched Matsuda, eyes like black slits. "He's not listening to us… I don't think so, Shuichi."

Words weren't working. We might have to resort to force.

As if he'd heard what I was thinking, Ide lowered his voice, "As long as he's got that Glock, it's dangerous to confront him."

And Matsuda had already made it clear he had no intention of handing that over.

"We're in a building full of armed cops. For now, we might have to play nice with him until we can figure something else out."

Playing nice had always been a challenge for me, and my first instinct was to jump on Matsuda and drag him to the hospital, whether he wanted to go or not, but Ide was right. If he pulled his gun, the other officers around us would have to get involved, and I wasn't sure I had the ability to keep a situation that dangerous under control.

"Try to reason with him," I suggested, and then we hurried to catch up to Matsuda, who stalked along, hands in his pockets, as if the drama at the maintenance closet hadn't happened.

He hardly seemed to notice us, and we walked on either side of him a few moments before Ide drew a deep breath and said, in a friendly tone, "So, it's not every day you're so bossy. Tell me again where we're going?"

"To report to the director."

"Right, well, that's cute, Sarge, but I doubt Boko's going to be happy when you and me bust in on him." Ide elbowed me. "That's a job for the boss, isn't it?"

Matsuda seemed to think about that, and then looked up at me. His large, maple eyes retained their innocence, but bore a haunting, new sharpness. "You can come along, then, if you want."

"Oh, thanks for your permission," I grumbled.

"I'm starving," Ide announced. "Aren't you hungry, Matsu-kun?"

"I don't know." Matsuda homed in on the elevator.

Playfully, Ide pushed him. "Come on. You're always hungry. Let's go get lunch—on me."

But the kid shook his head at once. "Talking to Boko is the only reason I came here."

"So we'll come back later. There's plenty of time for lunch, and then we can start working on getting the notebook—"

"You're lazy, Ide." Matsuda jammed the elevator button. "Go eat and sleep, if that's what you want. I'm busy."

It wasn't uncommon for Matsuda to call Ide lazy—he was lazy—but it was something he normally said in either jest or the heat of a childish anger. Today, his cold tone stopped Hideki in his tracks, and his cheeks even reddened. He fumbled for words. "Lazy, am I? I guess that's why I spent five days looking for your crazy ass—"

Automatically, I bumped him, cutting him off, and grabbed Matsuda's arm before he could board the elevator. "Hang on, hang on, wait a second. Can we just talk for a moment?" As I listened to myself, I felt that his boundless energy combined with this newfound focus was exhausting me, stripping away my command.

Matsuda strained forward in my grip, ready to walk off the second I let go. "There's no time."

"We're not going any further until we do," I announced, looking for my old authority. "You say you gave the notebook to criminals, plus you fired a round at my head—explain that to me. Now. Sergeant."

He wasn't responding to my gentler attempts to calm him down, so I thought hearing the reality of what had happened might wake him up. I really expected he'd rub the back of his neck, apologize, and launch into one of his usual, semi-incoherent diatribes, but the look he gave me was so blankly Matsuda, I couldn't even begin to make sense of what had gone wrong.

After a second, he simply asked, "What do you mean?"

"What do you mean, what do I mean? I _mean, _when you walked into that building, you were fine…"

Really, the Matsu who'd walked away from me at Daikoku Wharf hadn't been fine at all. He'd been scared, cranky, and miserable. "You were normal anyway, and now you're…" I gestured to him, unable to decide on an adjective, but the only nearly accurate thing that came to mind was cold. Extraordinarily cold.

"Oh!" Matsuda said suddenly, and then chirped, "I'm a sleeper cell," the exact way he'd tell me, "I'm a Sagittarius," as if it was obvious—shouldn't need to be asked—and it explained everything; but again, his tone and expression lacked all the mirth, affection, and cheer I'd gotten used to hearing in nearly every circumstance, and I was so caught up in that void, I barely comprehended the words themselves.

All I managed to utter was, "You're _what_?"

"A sleeper cell. You know—a covert agent who gets planted but doesn't act until—"

"We know what a sleeper cell is, Matsuda," Ide cut in, this time with a note of impatience. "What makes you think you are one?"

Matsuda shrugged. "Even Golden Teeth mentioned he'd have to deprogram me if he wanted to hear me beg for my life; L must have said the code word that triggered me."

For once, it was my turn to stare blankly at him. Through most of the interview with Near, as best I could tell, he'd been fine, if not a little high strung, so even if he'd planned ahead of time to steal the notebook, it didn't explain why he'd held onto it so long before making a move. It was only after Near mentioned Light, I realized, that the chaos had begun.

Could just a few words have altered him this badly?

My life suddenly felt like a whacko sci-fi, and I'd never cared much for that impractical genre.

All I could say was, "I highly doubt that."

Matsuda raised his eyebrows. "You don't think so?"

I lowered my voice. "I really think you're probably in shock, Matsuda."

"Besides, why would anyone turn you into a sleeper cell?" Ide spat. "Other than you being soft in the head, I mean." And then he laughed, sardonically, and I could tell he was really upset. "What, were they just that impressed with your new workout routine?"

"I don't know why," Matsuda admitted. "But that's obviously what they did."

"_Obviously_," Ide sneered. "Nope. That's ridiculous. Nobody would choose you for something like that. You know what I think? I think you snapped back there, and now you're having some kind of delusion."

I watched Matsuda, hoping those insulting words would get an emotional response from him, but he merely shrugged. "Think what you want, Taniki-tan," he muttered, and boarded the elevator.

We stepped in after him, Ide still shaking his head, eyes narrowed with frustration and alarm, muttering to himself, "Ridiculous," as he lit a cigarette.

Kidnapping Matsuda to get information made some sense; by his own admission, he'd always been a weak person—the bullied—and I'd never forgotten how those words had helped me realize that he needed my strength on his side. This time, I'd failed, and some sadistic bastard picked at his weaknesses until he caved. They'd gotten what they wanted.

Brainwashing him, though, to use as a covert agent… I could see no logic in that.

We rode the elevator in silence for a few minutes before Ide started up again, in a jeering tone. "So, Special Agent Matsuda, you're a sleeper cell now. How do we deprogram you?"

The shrug Matsu gave us seemed to say, _don't know, don't care, _and fluid confidence framed his every step as he led us through the department, making his way to Boko's office. Ide muttered next to me, "Stupid Matsuda… Can you believe this?"

Faintly, I admitted, "I'm not sure what to believe. Something is wrong though." Firing at us could have been a defensive reaction—an instinctive move made before he'd recognized us—but that look I'd seen on his face haunted me. No. He knew who we were. He just hadn't cared.

Sleeper cell or not, somebody—probably the same sicko who'd torn out one of his teeth—had really fucked with his head.

Something had to be done—immediately—he needed to be detained, placed on a hold, and evaluated. No matter the reason, there simply wasn't time to waste.

Ahead of us, the kid breezed past Boko's secretary, Detective Yamada, and she called out to him, several times.

Matsuda ignored her.

"Shuichi," Ide grated out. He'd started grinding his teeth, a sure sign of agitation. "What now?"

"We'll have to take him by force. There's no choice."

Jerkily, he nodded. "I'll try to convince him to give me the gun."

Detective Yamada had jumped up from her seat to try and physically stop Matsuda. "You can't just let yourself in!"

"For now, we may as well report to the director. We'll figure it out as we go along."

Hideki smirked, reluctantly. "I know how much you love going with the flow."

Going with the flow seemed like the dumbest thing I could possibly do at this point, but I didn't have a plan, and Matsuda showed no sign that he'd yield to me even momentarily, his stubbornness twice as bad as usual. At the reception desk, Detective Yamada had sprung from her seat to physically stop Matsuda from entering the director's office, while the rest of Boko's staff stared on, bewildered. The last thing we needed was for someone else to make the situation even worse.

"It's all right," I told Yamada, jaunting up beside Matsuda. "He's expecting us."

"No." She frowned at me over her glasses. "He's not. He's in a meeting!"

"Our operation was off the record," Ide explained, as I hurried into the office, right on Matsu's heel. Before the door shut, I heard him say, "Sorry we weren't able to call ahead, but I'm sure he wants to see us without delay."

He still didn't sound like the usual, self-assured Hideki, but at least I knew he'd get her off our backs.

Overwhelmed, I stood in the foyer of the giant office. _It's under control. It's under control. _For now, I had to keep my focus.

Boko had odd tastes, the pristine office decorated with trappings from all over the world: African masks, Australian aborigine boomerangs, baseballs signed by American teams, and even a Union Jack hanging over the desk with the Japanese and NPA flags. He kept exotic houseplants tucked here and there, and a shelf dedicated to a dozen or so trophies and plaques. Compared to the austere environment the former director had maintained, Boko's suite looked almost unprofessional. Like always, I found the decorum eclectic to a disorienting degree—it looked like he'd gone to and brought something back from every corner of the world.

On an arrangement of suede furniture in the center of the room, the director lounged, drinking tea and chatting with his deputy, and at first, he looked outraged by the interruption, but when he saw us, his eyes turned relieved and friendly. "Gentlemen. You're back. I trust that means things went well." Automatically, he looked to me for answers.

Ide came in behind me, sighing, "Oh, here we go…"

Matsuda taking the notebook and handing it over to someone shady would not be easy to explain. That, on top of the men he'd supposedly killed, left me with doubts that I'd be able to keep him from being arrested and interrogated again, and I paused to try and collect my thoughts.

In a mechanical tone, Matsuda began, "I met and spoke with L, but the death note has been taken, probably by the same men who abducted me. I came to request resources I'll need to get it back."

Startled, Boko turned to him, and even rose from his seat, while Deputy Director Honda sat back, looking puzzled. "How did that happen?"

"Sir," I interrupted, frowning at Honda. "Could we discuss this with a little more—?"

"I gave it to them," Matsuda answered easily. "I managed to get the notebook from L's team and rendezvoused with the suspects outside our meeting spot. They took the notebook from me."

"Excuse me?" Boko whipped his glasses off as if he could understand Matsuda better without them. "Sergeant…did you _give_ it to them, or did they _take _it?"

Matsuda hesitated to ponder the difference. Behind me, Ide muttered, "This is going great so far."

"Sir," I tried again. "I'd be happy to disclose the details, if we could just—"

"Chief Aizawa doesn't have the details," Matsuda corrected. "Only I do."

Hardly believing he'd undermine my authority in front of two of my superiors, I shot him a glare. "Sergeant, that's enough."

"Anyway, it's not as easy as all that. I've been programmed as a sleeper cell, so yes, I did steal the notebook and hand it over to criminals, but I believe that was all part of my directive."

Boko studied him, and then he turned to me again, not smiling for once. "Is this some kind of joke, Aizawa? It isn't very funny."

"No." I struggled to take back control. "I'm sorry, sir. I don't know the exact details at this time. But as he said, after the meeting with L, criminals did escape with the notebook."

Expression darkening into anger, Boko growled, "Chief Aizawa, that's unacceptable. I must admit, I expected a bit more from a man of your caliber."

"With all due respect, I didn't have many resources at my disposal, and there were unforeseeable circumstances—"

"It really doesn't have anything to do with Aizawa," Matsuda broke in, cavalierly, and the director and his deputy both faced him with twin expressions of astonishment, as if they couldn't believe my sergeant would interrupt me again after I'd warned him.

"Sergeant Matsuda," Boko said in his paternal way. "I can see that you're in distress, son, however—"

"I'm not in distress at all," Matsuda corrected. "I'm just saying you're wasting your time talking to Aizawa."

Boko's already long face stretched, and his eyes widened. I wondered when the last time he'd gotten cut off by anyone might have been, and then, wryly, I remembered I'd interrupted him myself just the other night.

But Matsuda simply bubbled away, "Ai did great. He took as many precautions as possible, but, like I said, I was apparently programmed to take the notebook—"

"That's insane, Sergeant!" Ide barked, drawing hard on his latest cigarette. "Listen to yourself. Everything you're saying is absolutely _mad_! I think you'd better give me your gun and sit down."

Matsuda shrugged. "As you can see, the chief and the captain don't exactly believe me; that's why I came to see you."

A second longer, the director gaped at him, and then turned a severe look on me.

This, I realized, was going to get completely out of my control in a matter of seconds if I didn't really handle it carefully.

"Sergeant." I turned to him, stiffly, and he glanced up at me. "Go outside with Captain Ide while I speak with the director."

"I didn't come here to listen to you talk politics with Boko," he replied, glibly. "I need resources so I can retrieve the death note."

I leveled the most disapproving look and authoritative tone I could muster on him. "Are you being insubordinate with me?"

Matsuda shook his head. "My directive—"

"Outside!" Ide snarled, snagging him by the back of the jacket and propelling him through the door.

Bold move. At least Matsuda didn't draw on him. I hoped that meant Ide would be able to convince him to hand his gun over while they were out there.

Boko politely asked Deputy Director Honda to step out as well, and then we faced each other, his expression hard with lines of disappointment and expectation.

"I don't know what happened today," I told him at once. "As you can see, Sergeant Matsuda believes he's been programmed to capture the notebook—he's convinced."

"But you're not."

How could I be? As Ide had said, that was crazy, and more importantly, the thought that someone might have gotten into Matsuda's head, forcing him to act against his will, was devastating.

"I'm not sure, sir. Either way, his actions did compromise the safety of the notebook and result in it falling into criminal hands. That's my responsibility as commanding officer during the operation." If nothing else, I thought grimly, I might have a chance at joining up with L, assuming I lost my job, so I'd still be able to get to the bottom of this, but I didn't know what would happen to Matsuda or Ide, let alone my family. "Recovering the notebook is paramount, of course. I have no reason to believe L himself won't focus all his energy on that, though, and I believe our priority is to understand what exactly happened to the sergeant."

Again, Boko raised his eyebrows. "Is that sentiment talking, Aizawa?"

It undoubtedly was, but I shook my head, trying to think like Soichiro. He'd had the balance between professionalism and care for his men down to an art, and as far as I could remember, he'd simply always been that way. "He could be a threat to the force, but he's also one of my subordinates. That makes it my duty to make sense of what's gone wrong with him. And undo it."

Pausing, Boko watched Matsuda through the blinds, where he stood shoulder to shoulder with Ide, and I could practically see the wheels in his head turning. I didn't like the sly sheen in his eyes. At last, he nodded, "Of course, Chief. It certainly is."

The rest of the afternoon dragged on forever. First, we went to visit one of the NPA psychiatric specialists in order to investigate the possibility that Matsuda really had just snapped. Ide and I waited more than two hours while the man thoroughly analyzed Matsuda, and the whole time, all I could even begin to hope for was that Matsuda was wrong, like usual—of course he hadn't been programmed by some sadistic lunatic to be used against us—and that there would be a simple fix to all of this.

Best case scenario, he'd be fine when he emerged again, Boko would see that none of this was his fault, and I'd get to go right home to my family and take a few days off.

Unnerved, I watched the kid through the office window, and the more I noticed how altered he really was, the uncharacteristically stiff way he sat and mechanical way he spoke, the more afraid I felt that he could actually be right.

Ide wouldn't hear it. Right away, he said he had to leave, he couldn't stand to sit there, he needed fresh air, and he left to pick up food. It wasn't unlike him to make a sudden exit in order to escape an unpleasant situation. I thought he'd come back in a calmer mood, but when he returned, he refused to listen to any of my fears, insisting that it was all a mistake, Matsuda was simply experiencing a break with reality, the doctor would sort him out and send him back to us, same old Matsu.

I wanted that as much as he did. I wanted Matsuda to stumble out of that room, asking where he'd been, confused and apologetic. I wanted that damn doctor to shoot us a fake smile and assure me that he was all better. I wanted Boko to tell me the whole matter was cleared up, Matsuda could go home—all allegations against him forgotten—and take some time to recover. I wanted to go home myself and tell Eriko that my day, no matter how wild and disconcerting, had turned out all right in the end, and things were going to go back to normal.

The longer we sat there, though, under the stark lights of the hallway, the surer I felt that was not going to happen, because, if nothing else, I'd be chasing the notebook for days.

"Why would anyone do this?" Ide wondered, in passing, voice reflecting deep concern very unlike the outrage he'd spoken to Matsuda with earlier. "Why would anyone do this to _Matsuda?_"

When I didn't answer, he stared me in the eyes, again showing me how affected he was. "If someone did this to you or me—ten or fifteen years ago—I'd understand. We're tough. But Matsuda…" Wincing, he suddenly turned to stare into the office again. "Matsuda will just get killed."

"Matsuda's not going to get killed," I assured him. "Even if he _has_ been programmed, all that means is we'll have to deprogram him. Until then, Matsu's not going anywhere."

In this bad sci-fi nightmare, that was my one and only comfort.

Ide's phone went off, and he checked it with a sigh. "Sayu. I guess she's going to start calling me now."

Ever since Boko took Matsuda away from her at the hospital, she'd been calling and texting me, practically every hour of the day, demanding to know where he was and why she couldn't see him, and nothing I told her was good enough. As much as I might want to, I knew explaining the truth was out of the question, and, yesterday, I'd simply given up on answering.

Ide put the call on speaker phone and answered dryly, "Hello, Sayu-san."

"Where is Aizawa?" she asked at once, a hard edge of determination lining her voice.

"Right here with me. What's up?"

"What's _up_?" she repeated. "I want my boyfriend back. That's what's up!"

"Tell me about it," Ide grumbled. "I've barely seen Kei at all since he disappeared."

She issued a frustrated sigh. "Can I talk to Aizawa?"

"Not right now. Can I help?"

"Yes! Tell me where Touta is!"

"He's fine."

"I didn't ask if he's all right! I asked where he is."

"Of course." Ide puffed his cigarette.

Sayu filled the long silence with infuriated snorts and exasperated sighs. "Ide-san," she said, finally, endeavoring to be polite, as if manners meant anything to Hideki. "Please let me talk to Chief Aizawa-san."

"I think if he wanted to talk to you, he'd have answered his phone the last ten times you called him."

"This is so unfair!" she exploded. "The NPA has my boyfriend—the least you could do is explain to me why!"

In a well-rehearsed voice, Ide told her, "I assure you, Miss Sayu, we at the NPA are doing everything in our power to restore your lost loved one to you just as quickly as possible. We deeply appreciate your understanding during this difficult time, and extend our profoundest sympathies—"

"Oh my god!" she shouted. "I _hate_ you, Ide-san!"

"I'm terribly sorry you feel that way, Miss Sayu. Rest assured, we at the NPA will nevertheless put our best efforts into—"

With another furious shout, she hung up on him, and he tucked his phone away.

"Always the diplomat," I muttered.

"I can't imagine you wanted me to tell her her boyfriend is—"

The office door opened, and we lurched to our feet, just as Matsuda strolled out, stretching like he'd woken up from a long nap, but his face looked just as apathetic as when he'd gone in. "Thanks for waiting," he said to us, in a tonelessly polite voice.

Doctor Ishikawa trailed him, reviewing his notes.

Eagerly, I watched him rub his balding head and adjust his glasses. Without meeting my gaze, he asked, "Where's the director?"

"Back in his office. What's the prognosis? Can you help him?"

"My apologies, Chief. I can't discuss that with you at this time."

"What do you mean you can't discuss it with me? Is he okay, or not?"

"Not," he replied coldly, and took hold of Matsuda's arm, escorting him back down the hallway.

We had no choice but to follow them to Boko's office, and then we stood outside another half hour while the three of them conferred, each passing second making me more and more aggravated and worried.

If Ide had been sent away, I'd understand that, but as Matsuda's boss, I felt that I should be included in whatever discussion they were having. I didn't need medical details, if that was their concern, I did need to know, though, what exactly had happened to my sergeant, and what steps should be taken to rectify the situation. It bothered me to know that they might be making decisions without my input.

"We're not family," I reminded Ide when he complained about it, but, as usual, Matsuda's family remained uninvolved, and right now, whatever the case might be, he needed someone he could trust in his corner.

_They'll have to tell me something,_ I assured myself. _I'm the chief. I swore I'd keep an eye on him._

Not only that, I'd promised Chief Yagami I'd look after him; I'd promised myself that I wouldn't let him drop dead like Ukita; I wouldn't let him be tortured to death like Izanagi Chiba.

Failure had never been easy for me to cope with, but Matsuda was still alive, and I would not let anything—not even my highest superior—deter me from my duty to him.

But when they finally came out, Director Boko said to me, "You may as well go home, Aizawa. The situation is under control."

I tried to catch Matsuda's eye, to see if that was really true, but where his face had always been an open book in the past, I could suddenly deduce nothing from his emotionless gaze.

"I'd like to be included, sir," I informed them, stubbornly, throwing back my shoulders so that they'd see my resolve as much as hear it in my voice.

"Well," Boko sighed, "no one can make you go home. I suppose, at this point, you're privy to whatever the sergeant decides to tell you." And then he led the way down the hall and to the elevator, and Ishikawa stepped right after him, one hand on Matsuda's shoulder.

Not knowing what else to do, Ide and I trailed them down to the rec room, where a squad of special forces guys were sparring and hitting punching bags. They paused to watch us, curiously, and issue their respects to the director and me.

"Sir," I said, barely hiding my frustration. "With all due respect, I would appreciate knowing what's going on."

"It seems Sergeant Matsuda is correct," Boko answered, looking around the room with a nostalgic air.

"No way," Ide blurted. "He really _is_ a sleeper cell?"

Between us, Matsuda muttered, "Told you so, Taniki-tan."

"Ah, that," Doctor Ishikawa spoke up, "is a rather…romantic description for it."

"There's nothing romantic about any of this," I argued at once.

He looked incredulously at me, and I all but heard him thinking, _what a dumb jock._ "What I mean is, that seems to be the way Sergeant Matsuda has characterized his condition, but most likely out of his personal taste for drama."

Only Matsuda could take something horrifying that had happened to him and turn it into anything one might regard as romantic.

"It's possibly more accurate to say he's been hypnotized."

I studied Matsuda, but I didn't find the vapid expression I'd expect to see on the face of of someone hypnotized. In fact, his eyes were sharper than usual.

"I think," Ishikawa went on, "the best way, though, to describe the situation, is that he's been brainwashed."

Ide squawked, "Brainwashed?" in a stricken tone, and the special forces men around us murmured to one another.

Suddenly, I cut in, "Outside your office, you acted like this is a matter of doctor-patient confidentiality."

"Not this part, necessarily," Ishikawa answered, quietly. "But yes, there were parts of my conversation with the sergeant that I won't be revealing to anyone. The point is, according to him, a very specific set of words triggered a directive that's been programmed into his brain."

Worriedly, I stared at Matsuda. "How does that work?"

"I'm not entirely sure." He reviewed his notes. "If you want, you can ask him to describe the procedure he endured, but I don't recommend that. It's somewhat upsetting."

My stomach twisted, and I watched Matsuda for any shudder or flinch that might give away even a hint of fear, but even when Ide nudged his shoulder, he just looked at him, barely seeming to understand that Ide had done it on purpose, in an attempt to connect with him.

"Okay," I managed to choke out. "So how do we undo it?"

Instead of answering, Ishikawa turned to Boko, and the director said, "As long as Kira's devil book is at large, it's our priority to recover it, as you said, Chief."

Nervously, I glanced around the training facility, overly aware of our audience. "Sir, I wish you'd be a bit quieter about that."

"It hardly matters now." He waved me off.

I didn't see how that could be, but he must have come down here to select a team for the operation, so I scanned the special forces men more thoroughly, picking out which ones I knew, trying to decide which ones I'd want. All of them were young, in their twenties and thirties, muscular, and tough-looking, so the real problem would be selecting ones I felt I could trust. "Sir, I think I should be the CO in this mission."

"I have reason to believe Sergeant Matsuda will be sufficient on his own."

I turned to stare at him.

Ide stammered, "S-sir…you expect him to do it alone?"

"Not exactly. I expect to coordinate with L, and I'm sure the two of you are willing to help, but it seems to me that since the sergeant's main objective at this point is to recover the notebook anyway, he should be our primary operative."

Expecting to see him terrified, I turned automatically to Matsuda, but he merely watched the director with complete apathy.

"Director Boko…" I jumped in, forcing myself to choose my words carefully, despite my alarm. "I'm not sure sending Sergeant Matsuda to execute this mission is…wise…given his condition."

"He's in fine mental condition," Ishikawa corrected, and again, I had no idea why he'd say such a thing. "In fact, seeing that his emotions have been completely overruled by his directive, he should be able to perform even better than he normally would."

I glared at him. What the hell did he know? He likely hadn't realized Matsuda was alive before he walked into his office this afternoon, so he couldn't possibly understand how altered the kid really was.

"Thanks," I grated out. "But, as chief, I don't believe Sergeant Matsuda is qualified for a special forces mission."

Nodding, the director called out to one of the men standing around us, "Hisumi-chan. Come here, please."

Some skin-head nearly as tall as Mogi, with arms as big around as my neck, stepped forward, looking confused. "Sir."

Boko smiled at Matsuda. "Attack, Hisumi-chan. Let's see what you can do."

At last, Matsuda's face flipped into a vague frown. "Why should I?"

Beneath his guise of paternal friendliness, the director barely managed to hide how irritated it made him to be questioned, and he spoke in an overly patient voice. "I am attempting to determine whether I should lock you up or help you. You do want to accomplish your directive, don't you?"

Matsuda stiffened. "Of course."

"So follow my orders, Sergeant."

Still, Matsuda hung back, sizing Hisumi up, before stepping forward.

I couldn't help grabbing his arm. "Wait a moment. Director Boko, you can't be serious." Height aside, Hisumi was twice the size of Matsuda, with a strapping chest and hands that could snap the kid in two.

He protested as well. "Sir, I wouldn't want to hurt the little sergeant."

"No, of course not." Boko smiled. "But as Chief Aizawa said, it's important that we assess his physical qualifications for this mission."

"Odd way to go about it," Ide grumbled. "This isn't Somalia, for Christ's sake."

Matsuda pulled away from me and stalked across the floor, hands hanging loosely at his sides. "I don't mind."

At last, with another lingering hesitation, Hisumi glanced at the comrades on either side of him, and went forward to meet him, popping his shoulders and looking decidedly conflicted.

"This…is ridiculous," Ide insisted. "Matsuda's injured."

Hearing those words, Hisumi hung back and looked worriedly toward the director. "Sir—"

Delivering a curt jab to Hisumi's solar plexus, Matsuda doubled him over, snatched his wrist, twisting it behind his back, and while Hisumi cried out in pain, kicked him in the back of the knee, knocking him to the ground and stomping hard on his neck.

In hushed voices, the special forces men murmured and shuffled. One even took a tentative step, as if it had occurred to him to help his friend, but then he hesitated.

With Hisumi pinned, Matsuda pointed a finger gun at his head and uttered a soft, "Bang. You're dead."

Hisumi jerked and groaned, sputtering a curse.

"Well done, Sergeant." Boko smiled at me. "I think he seems up to the task."

"What…?" I couldn't stop staring at Matsuda, hardly believing the concise, emotionless way he'd taken down a man twice his size. "No. That…that doesn't prove anything! Hisumi hesitated! The men who took the notebook won't."

"With the proper strategy, it shouldn't matter," Boko told me, dismissively. "That'll be your responsibility, Chief."

I gaped at him, trying to think of a way to stop this from happening, but we were moving too fast.

Meanwhile, Matsuda stepped off Hisumi, and his friends helped him up, checking him over and gawping.

"This isn't right," I growled. "We don't know enough. We should at least get a second opinion."

"Yes, I agree," Director Boko said, gently. "But Sergeant Matsuda insists he doesn't have time to waste."

"Matsuda." I scowled at the kid. "You can't be serious."

He shrugged. "I have to get the notebook. That's all that matters."

Before the Kira case ended, Matsuda had been the kind of person who might have called an ambulance because he'd stubbed his toe, and now he suddenly had no apparent regard for his personal health or safety.

"At least," the director added, "He's much more efficient this way, wouldn't you agree?"

"He's _dangerous_," I corrected. "He's in a dangerous condition. We should be trying to find a way to undo his programming, not sending him after criminals."

"At this point, the only way to do that," Ishikawa announced, in his snotty voice, "would be to uncover the code that will undo his programming in the first place."

Again, I glared at him, wondering what his qualifications for that opinion might be when he'd just acted like he barely knew anything about it. Noticing the interested way he studied Matsuda, I worried that he might have ulterior motives for not contradicting the director.

Boko removed his glasses to clean them with a cloth he kept in his pocket, nodding. "The surest method is to confront the men responsible and find out from them what that code might be. So it seems that recovering Kira's devil book and reprogramming Matsuda-kun go hand-in-hand."

Dumbfounded, I stared at them, hardly believing they were willing to risk his safety for their personal gain, and next to me, Ide seemed to have stopped breathing.

"In the meantime, Sergeant, all the NPA's resources are at your disposal, as I promised, and we won't revist the murder allegations against you until this matter is resolved. You may not have been in your right mind when that happened."

"He's not in his right mind now!" I half-shouted.

Giving a brief nod, Matsuda announced, "In that case, Mr. Director, I'm going home."

Boko had probably never seen Matsuda so assertive, and he paused, brow furrowing. "Well, Sergeant, I'm not sure…"

"I have my directive," Matsuda told him in a finite tone. "I'm not going anywhere until it's accomplished."

"Yes, all right then." Gradually, the director turned to me. "The rest is up to you, Chief."

Meaning, if, for any reason, Matsuda got out of control, made a mistake, or skipped town, I'd be held accountable.

Hazily, I followed him out of the station.

"I don't trust that quack," Ide muttered, once we'd reached the street. "He seems more interested in what Matsuda will do than he does in helping him."

"I'm sure that's not true," I answered, faintly, despite the fact that he was, again, voicing my own misgivings.

"What kind of doctor gives the okay on something like this? It's irresponsible. And the director? I can't imagine what he wants."

I tried to understand where things had gone wrong, but maybe I'd been equally irresponsible, and all I could think of were the horrible things that had come out during the interview with Near—recollections of being tortured, gaps in his memory, fears he'd been holding onto he wouldn't normally want us to hear. It had been hard to listen, to know I'd failed him so badly, turning my car irrevocably somber, and flooding me with guilt.

Now it looked like that vulnerable, frightened side of Matsuda had slipped through my fingers before I even noticed he was at risk.

_I should have gone in with him. I should have protected him. That's the last time I take orders from _L.

Between his obsession with his directive and Boko's orders, it seemed all my power had been stripped away, and Matsuda didn't care. He'd always looked to me for guidance and strength; even today, he'd been so upset to learn I wasn't going into the yellow box with him, and now he marched along the sidewalk, not giving two shits if I followed or not. If I went home to my family, he might not notice my absence at all.

"Where are you going, Matsu-kun?" I asked, quietly.

"Home, like I said. I want to sleep in my own bed."

"Is that an _emotion_?" Ide wondered, mimicking my lost tone.

Eyes widening at the thought, Matsuda decided, "Maybe…? But I don't think so—not really; I just know I'll get better rest in my own home."

Next, Ide tried to tease. "You need sleep? Aren't you like a machine now?"

"I'm not a machine," Matsuda said, matter-of-factly. "I still need to sleep."

And then Ide hung there, unsure of what to say, expression betraying exactly how perplexed he felt at not be able to joke with Matsuda.

"Well, let's drive," I decided, finally finding the presence of mind to grab him and reroute him back to the car. "It's faster."

Regardless of if he wanted it or appreciated it, no matter what anyone else said, I couldn't leave him to handle this mission on his own. Even if I could simply go home and forget this, I wouldn't; I wouldn't risk the possibility that Matsuda might die without me.


	9. Chapter 9

**Mogi**

* * *

Showing no more emotion than usual, Near studied me, unblinking and refusing to miss anything, and I gazed back at him, trying to clear my vision as I pressed the ice pack Lidner had brought me against the back of my skull. In the darkened room, with only the natural light of evening filtering through the curtained windows, he looked like a small ghost crouching on the floor, all white, with eyes like wells of ink.

After what had happened, we'd had no choice but to check into a hotel, but for all his collectedness, Near had dismissed the others as soon as we'd reached the suite. He must have something vital to say to me.

All my attention should be focused on this meeting, but my mind kept wandering, attempting to make sense of the day's events.

_I can't believe Matsuda hit me._

In my entire life, I couldn't recall ever seeing him hit anyone for any reason. Of course not. Civilized people solved problems with words, and Matsuda was nothing if not civilized, with his expensive haircut, perfectly manicured nails and suits he couldn't really afford, the type who'd be reluctant to hit anyone if only because he didn't want to get blood on his shoes.

_That isn't the point_, I reminded myself, but the thoughts all felt foggy, and my head throbbed, though Lidner insisted it didn't seem to be badly injured. I hadn't quite lost consciousness, and I'd likely sustained only a mild concussion.

Near spoke at last, quiet voice filling the room and making my ears ring. "I'm sure it isn't lost on you how very serious this is."

"No," I agreed, equally soft, though I was still scrambling to grasp the true nature of the situation. Matsuda had taken the notebook. Rester and Gevanni tried to rescue it while Lidner and I were down, but according to them, Matsuda had escaped into a helicopter, and they hadn't been able to follow him.

Just now, it felt too much like an action film for me to really get my mind around the details—like how Matsuda of all people had evaded Commander Rester, or who was flying the helicopter in the first place.

Hazily, I remembered the wire he'd been wearing. I'd assumed it must be Aizawa and Ide on the other end. Perhaps, though, it had been a more clandestine party.

_But why would he hit me?_

Matsuda wasn't like Ide, who had a habit of hitting people's shoulders out of playfulness, annoyance, or frustration. Any time I'd seen him punch Matsuda, Matsu only ever whined and rubbed his arm, not even seeming to think of hitting back.

And again, Ide, if he became too hyped up on sugar, adrenaline, or high spirits, tended to start scuffles. To this day, if he pushed him—really pushed him—he could get Aizawa to exchange a few mock blows with him, just until Aizawa remembered his age and rank. In order to keep fit, they did still occasionally visit the training dojo, but that may have changed since Aizawa's promotion. Matsuda, though, as far as I'd seen, couldn't be coerced into such rough play, and Ide had often sneered that it was because he'd grown up without any brothers, though Matsuda insisted he'd been in martial arts club as a teenager and…

_All of that is neither here nor there._

Near sighed, and I realized we'd been sitting in silence for a very long time. "As a member of my team, you swore to protect the notebook at any cost."

"I did." I rubbed my forehead, finding that the pain had expanded from the base of my skull all the way to the pits of my eyes, with no sign of wearing off, and frankly, I didn't expect it to. He hadn't simply struck me, he'd pistol whipped me.

During the Reaper case, he'd gotten into a fist fight or two, but, for the most part, his instincts for violence, even as a measure of defense, were dull.

Of course, he could, I had no doubt. Aizawa had told us how Matsuda tried to beat the life out of Akki Toyoshi during their final showdown, but that was a matter of survival, following a saga of psychological and emotional torment.

_None of that answers the question of why_.

"Not only did you fail to protect the notebook," Near explained, "you actively prevented Rester and Gevanni from taking action."

That hadn't been my intention at the time, but it had been the result.

"They would have shot him," I murmured.

Near nodded. "As part of their duty to protect the notebook. Do you mean you allowed emotions to interfere with your own duty?"

Stepping between Rester and Matsuda had been more reactionary than anything, and, at the time, I'd merely thought there was no call to shoot him. But now that seemed stupid.

Not only did he steal the notebook, he'd attacked Lidner, he'd taken her weapon, and, prone to violence or not, Matsuda with a gun was one of the most dangerous things I'd ever seen, insofar as he was capable of incredible crack shots; instinctive, raw, and operating on muscle memories built over years of honing that skill, possessing such levels of speed and precision, he could have killed most of us while we were still reeling.

Getting in the way must have been an emotional reaction.

_Rester could have outgunned him, for all I know, and then Matsuda would be dead._

"It's just that," I blurted out, "he's Matsuda…" but I barely understood the words, and I assumed they must have been born out of the pain in my head and the haziness of my thoughts.

Matsuda could never really hurt anyone… Well, one or two special instances aside. He was so small and scattered and jumpy. He didn't have the capacity for cold-blooded murder.

_You know that's not true._

Once, Aizawa had even confessed to me how afraid he was to accidentally push Matsuda to become a killer.

_He isn't, though._

"I see," Near mused. "You feel protective of him."

"I…" I faltered, thinking that I never would have described it that way myself, but it wasn't untrue either. "I suppose… I must."

After all, why not? He'd been injured. When I met him in the road, he was angry and in clear distress. Someone had kidnapped him and done horrible things to him—things he could hardly remember or stand to think about—and besides, ever since he'd shot Light, he'd been so far off the rails, so unequivocally reckless, and at risk, it would be strange to not feel at least a little protective of him.

"Do you think," Near wondered, plucking at his hair, "Chief Aizawa knows you feel that way?"

If anyone was truly protective of Matsuda, it was Aizawa, and overbearingly so. In all likelihood, that sentiment had existed for some time, but I'd watched it grow more and more persistent ever since we'd found Light's corpse. Matsu fell apart, Aizawa jumped in out of instinct, and there was no return from that awkward, almost maladjusted relationship they'd built following the Kira case.

Ide, too, felt that way, though he hid it best. Being comparatively logical, he'd insisted there was no sense in worrying ourselves sick over a coworker, but then, adversely, Matsuda was more than a coworker to Ide. Even before Kira died, they'd had a more personal relationship, constructed out of a shared enthusiasm for going out to lunch nearly every day and Ide's better-balanced sense of humor and social skills, which Aizawa and I lacked. Obsessed with appearances, though, he rarely let on to his true feelings for even the people he felt closest to.

I'd seen worry on his face, from time to time, when he thought no one was paying attention, and I suspected his sentiments toward Matsuda were even brotherly.

Mine were also, I supposed, if I had to label it, and I'd felt that way a long time. In fact, days when I hadn't thought much of him were fuzzy to me now, and, always, if I bothered to consider it, I found myself pondering the night he'd infiltrated Yotsuba by himself.

Chief Yagami had hidden his concerns, carefully, but I'd known him well enough to detect them. More distinctly than that, even, I remembered standing on that balcony, waiting to catch him with the mattress, and the feeling of my heart riding in my throat.

There'd been very little time for reflection, but I did recall mulling over that Matsuda had achieved an odd type of friendship with me, in that, he spoke casually to me, and yet still made me feel unexpectedly special, without showing any hint of jealousy or resentment. On the contrary, he always made me laugh, drawing me out of pessimistic thoughts, and he made me feel as though my being on the task force mattered, not because I was such a good detective, but because I was me, and, evidently, he liked me.

That was the night I'd first realized and admitted to myself that losing Matsuda would rip a hole in my life.

"Mogi," Near prompted, though he almost never disrupted my train of thought on purpose.

"Yes," I said finally. "I'm sure Aizawa knows I would do anything in my power to protect Matsuda."

Obviously, he must, otherwise he would have been much more reluctant to let Matsuda out of his sight with no one to back him up but me. The four of us trusted each other.

Near studied me a moment longer and then announced, "Then it appears you've been betrayed."

Not understanding, I blinked my burning eyes at him, wondering if the blow to the head might have muddled my thinking.

_We trust each other. Matsuda would never hit me._

After six years of noticing the admiration in his eyes when he spoke to me, the eager way he'd always welcomed me back to HQ, the slow days spent listening to him ramble, confiding his hopes and fears in me, and the long nights that had found him, exhausted and passed out next to me on the couch, it seemed impossible that he'd want to hurt me.

_ Surely there's some mistake._

"I don't understand, sir," I admitted, after enduring another long, expectant look.

"I think it's obvious Chief Aizawa sent Mr. Matsuda to take the notebook."

Dumbfounded, I nearly dropped my ice pack, and instead wound up placing it on my knee, where the cold immediately began melting into my slacks. "Near… That is more unlikely than you even realize."

"What other explanation can there be for what just happened?"

"Aizawa would never send Matsuda for something like that…" I rubbed my bruised head and then checked my fingers for blood.

_He did hit me. There's no way around that._

How unlike him.

Remembering how scared he'd been made it difficult to believe as well, but then, Aizawa sending Matsuda in with a wire didn't exactly profess trust in me. Matsuda had said it was a precaution in case anything went wrong, but what exactly did Aizawa expect to go wrong?

"I've known Aizawa more than fifteen years—there's no reason for him to want the death note."

"No," Near agreed, "but Chief Aizawa is merely a cog in the NPA machine now, a man who follows orders; trusting him and trusting the police is not the same thing." He cocked his head to level an analytical, black eye on me. "You know how the NPA has behaved in the past when it comes to Kira."

Conflicted, I sat a while, turning the ice pack over in my hand. Stubborn to no end, Aizawa would never compromise the notebook even if he was commanded to, but then I couldn't say with one hundred percent certainty that Aizawa was insusceptible to corruption, coercion, and black mail.

Even if he had been black mailed, though, Ide and Matsuda wouldn't help him steal the death note… Would they?

Suddenly, it did seem suspicious, more so than ever, that Matsuda had been kidnapped and that Aizawa had seen fit not to inform me; it seemed suspicious that they'd contacted me so abruptly to warn that the death note might be compromised. Now the death note was gone.

_Matsuda admitted that the criminals who abducted him could try to use him against me._

Did that very thing happen under my nose this afternoon?

As much as I might want to deny it, Matsuda—and therefore Aizawa—was responsible.

"Rester mentioned a helicopter," I said faintly, licking my dry lips. "Do we know who was on it?"

"Specifically, no. Judging by the way things played out, though—criminals. Possibly the same criminals who abducted Mr. Matsuda in the first place."

"Then you believe he really was abducted?"

Near didn't so much as incline his head one way or the other. "At this point, I need much more information." His eyes narrowed. "My primary concern for now is to determine whether or not you were involved in the operation."

"M-me?" I stammered.

"You vouched for them," he reminded me coolly, "and in the end, you did help them take the notebook from me."

Astonished, I could do nothing but stare. Convincing Near to trust them hadn't been especially difficult since, as he'd pointed out, we'd all worked together to bring Kira to justice. To some extent, he'd trusted them without my affirmation, and it wasn't like him to assign blame so readily.

"Near…" I said finally, "if I erred in judgment, it was only out of emotions. As I said. Lingering feelings of loyalty toward a man I worked with—"

"Protecting the notebook from criminal hands takes precedence over everything else," he cut in, and I didn't think I'd ever heard him interrupt before. "Now, thanks to your misplaced loyalty, criminals have the notebook, and I have no doubt they intend to use it to advance their own agenda."

"We'll retrieve it," I said automatically. "Whoever these people are, they're not Light Yagami_. _Getting it back shouldn't be difficult."

"No, I doubt it will. I expect the NPA should be able to handle it, seeing how they may even be working with the criminals."

"I don't think they are."

"I'm not inclined to trust your judgments at this particular time." He got up from the floor, and despite the difference in our sizes, I felt very small just then.

"You can trust me," I assured him. "I'm not involved in any plot to misuse the death note."

Black eyes stared me down with unrelenting scrutiny.

"Please believe me."

"Then you want to fix this?"

"Yes. Yes, I'll do whatever it takes to fix it."

Near nodded slowly. "I do believe that." He looked out the window, pulling and twisting his hair more aggressively than normal. "The NPA will either pursue the criminals, or they'll lead you to them. Given your touching loyalty to Aizawa and his men, I have no doubt they'll let you join them."

The unforgiving iciness in his voice took my breath away, and though I opened my mouth, no words came out.

"If you want to regain my trust, in the meantime, you'd better get the notebook back, and bring it to me." This time, the look he leveled on me was almost fierce. "If not, I don't want to see you back here again."

I drew a deep breath. "Near—"

"That's all I have to say."

A while longer, I sat, wanting to protest, knowing it would do no good, and then I got up as well, practically stumbling out of the room in a daze. Rester and the others were gathered in the hall, listening despite what they'd been told, and the three of them stared at me, but I only paused a moment before shambling on my way.

_Aizawa…_ I thought, as I wandered out into the twilight, barely thinking of where I should go. _You…complete jackass… If you betrayed me…_

Even if he had, what could I do? There was no going against an NPA chief. And unless I could get the notebook back, somehow, my job was lost, leaving me horribly displaced.

Anger began to grow in me as I walked. I'd left my entire life behind to join Near. The only people I hadn't cut off completely had been my old taskforce colleagues, but I never would have expected that to be a mistake. I never would have thought Aizawa would use my connection to Near against me. And to use Matsuda to do it…

On the night he'd jumped from the balcony, neither the chief nor I had managed to admit out loud how relieved we felt at having him back safely—neither of us had ever been good at such things—but I'd put my hand on his shoulder, momentarily. I'd never forgotten the way his round, hazelnut eyes had stared up at me, startled, or the small, pleased way he'd smiled. I'd never forgotten how shakily he'd laughed, _"I'm all right."_

That night, without words or grandeur, I'd shown him he meant something to me.

Now, as I rubbed the back of my wounded head, I couldn't help wondering, did he even realize what he was doing? He must have. Originally, Aizawa had expected to walk into the yellow box in person and take the notebook by his own hand, but when he'd learned he wasn't allowed, he must have instructed Matsuda to do it. He'd known I wouldn't let _the kid_ get hurt.

_That's very low…_

This was the man I'd once called captain and chief.

No point in questioning Ide's interests. He had his sense of justice, yes, but he was an underachiever, comparatively, who craved an easy life filled with plenty of free time to pursue his varied interests. He'd been piggybacking off Aizawa since the day I'd met him, confident that slow and steady Shuichi would eventually make his way to success, self-entitled to his friend's victory. Aizawa wouldn't have to try very hard to convince him to join him in this venture, and since Ide believed in his partner more than he believed in anything else in existence, he'd defend him to the hilt and enforce whatever he said as law.

And Matsuda. Of course, he'd do whatever Aizawa told him; even if it was only on the basis of the flimsiest reasoning, he'd never disobey his chief, and he'd have no reason to distrust Aizawa. He'd known what he was doing.

Stomach turning, I remembered the horrible look on his face as he'd beaten Lidner down and stolen her weapon. Oh, yes, he'd known exactly what he was doing, and he'd been committed to it. He'd wanted to take the notebook.

Why?

I paused at the road, barely aware of the rush hour traffic.

Best case scenario, there was some excellent reason for what they'd done, though it was hard to picture what that might be.

Worst case scenario…they really had turned against me to carry out some nefarious purpose.

Asking directly was the only way to find out, and just now, I had no idea where to find any of them.

_I'm still a detective_, I reminded myself, shuffling forward. _I'll find them._

And then, no matter where they'd cast their lots, I would find the notebook.

* * *

**Sayu**

* * *

Directly following my evening class, I rode my bike to an obscure part of the campus, to an old willow tree, where Tachi had asked me to meet him. Dusk had started to settle, and the air smelled like rain, my favorite kind of evening. I tried to enjoy the feel of the wind in my hair and down the front of my top, but my anxiety wouldn't leave me alone, and all through class, I'd barely been able to pay attention. When class was dismissed, I'd been in such a hurry, I'd forgotten my backpack and had to go back for it. In fact, I would have left it there if it hadn't been for my laptop.

_I can't go on like this much longer._

Easygoing stillness blanketed the campus as I flew along the path. Exams were coming up soon—everyone was holed up in their rooms or at the library, studying—I should be studying.

What poor timing. Last spring, after Touta and I started dating officially, I'd felt comfortable with finally getting back to school, and I'd expected smooth sailing from there on out. Touta had seemed to be doing so well with his undercover work; Mom and I were getting by, and she'd said I should focus on college instead of picking up a job. There hadn't been any reason for me to expect a catastrophe of this magnitude, and now I found myself wondering how I could possibly finish my academic year strong.

_No one would think twice if I left school again._

Even if they had no idea my fiancé had been abducted, no one would say anything, after all I'd been through. Not to my face, at least, but behind closed doors, I knew they would whisper, _poor Sayu. She's been through so much. I guess she'll never be the same._

Filled with shame, I clenched my handlebars, tightly, and hopped up onto the grass, pedaling hard to the base of the willow, where Tachi waited already. Dressed in the same cool, dark suit and white shirt he'd worn earlier, he looked casual, hands in his pockets, collar open. Breeze fluttered through his feathery hair, and he watched the passing students with mild interest.

I leapt from my bike, all but throwing it on the ground as I trotted toward him. "I'm here. Sorry if I'm late."

"Oh, hey, Sayu-san." His teeth flashed like lightning in the twilight. "No, I'm early."

"Thanks for meeting me, Tachibana-san," I said, automatically, but without my mother hovering, expecting me to be polite, I could finally speak my mind with this guy, and I intended to.

"Please call me Tachi," he asked, in the same tone he'd used earlier, as if it didn't really matter to him one way or another. "Tachibana is such a mouthful."

"It's your family name, isn't it?"

"Yes. I don't like my own name any better. Tachi will do."

He eased away from his tree, taking a few casual steps toward me, and I quickly scanned the area out of habit, making sure there were still people around, and a safe place I could get to.

Nearby, a group of guys played with a Frisbee, and the library stood in running distance. I'd be okay. I had my bike.

"That's not your real name, though, right?" I asked.

Tachi smirked. "No, of course not."

"My mother has no idea you're undercover, right? Otherwise she never would have tried to set me up with you."

"That's true. She's told me all about how worried she is that you've gotten involved with a police detective."

I rolled my eyes. It was bad enough she kept pestering me about it without complaining to everyone she knew.

"Really, that was just a front to meet you. Dating you would be a conflict of interest for me."

I nodded, and even though I hadn't necessarily been worried about that, I felt a little relieved. "Will you ever tell her?"

"No," he said immediately. "Part of being undercover is that no one can know—ever." And then he tilted his head, letting soft hair fall all to one side of his face. "You understand that, though, being that your fiancé does a lot of undercover work."

"I understand," I agreed, "I just feel bad for my mother that you deceived her."

At last, Tachi frowned. "Oh. Well." He ran his fingers through his hair, an action that reminded me all too much of Touta. "I apologize for that. We don't think of it that way, I suppose, it's simply part of the job. At the time, I needed to find a natural way to get into contact with you."

"You could have told me more about what was going on when we met at the diner."

The way he studied me, I got the feeling he hadn't been expecting that, but in the end, he simply shrugged. "That was a special situation. I never would have let on that I'd been watching you if you hadn't put yourself in danger."

"Then you're supposed to be keeping an eye on me."

"Yes. I'm assigned to watch over you and your mother, for a time."

"In that case, I don't understand why you've suddenly decided we need to be in touch."

Tachi kicked at the ground, explaining, vaguely, "Things have changed."

"All right. So you're really a detective. What's your real name?"

Smiling thoughtfully at the sky, he took a moment and then decided, "It might be best if you keep calling me Tachi for now."

Although the answer frustrated me, and I would like to know more about who he was and what his assignment involved exactly, he had a very laidback and likeable way about him, from his casual demeanor to his unwavering smile. I agreed that would be all right.

Besides, it was obvious Aizawa had asked him to tail me and Mom, to keep me out of trouble. The only question was, when had he decided that, and why? Mom acted as if she'd known Tachi for several months, so he must have been given his assignment even before Touta went missing.

_Did Aizawa know something might happen?_

If he had, possibly, Touta had known also. He tended to be pretty straightforward with his thoughts and feelings, but I guessed he could have hidden his concerns from me.

"No offense," I said, "but I hope you can tell me something more, even if it's not your name."

In a reassuring voice, Tachi said, "Not to worry. I do have something important to tell you."

Anxiously, I drew closer. "Is it about Touta? Do you know where he is?"

"No. Sorry. As I said earlier, there isn't much I can tell you about Sergeant Matsuda."

"I see." I stared down at my shoes, feeling discouraged. Rushing over to meet him would be a waste of time if he didn't have more info about my missing fiancé. Maybe I'd have better luck phoning Aizawa again.

After the way Ide brushed me off earlier, acting like he barely knew who I was or what had me worried, it had become apparent that neither of them wanted to talk to me at all, let alone tell me anything.

If I wanted to move forward, I'd have to think of a different route.

"You have to be careful about trusting the NPA," Tachi announced.

Startled, I looked up at him again, finding that he'd fixed an incredibly serious expression on me, and his perpetual smile had transformed into a bothered, tight frown.

"What are you talking about? Aren't you with the NPA?"

Tachi sighed. "I'm sorry to have to tell you this—your family has been an important part of the force for generations; you're part of the NPA family by extension—but you deserve to know."

"Know what?" I demanded, after he'd paused a second.

Still, he hesitated, checking over his shoulders and watching the Frisbee players a moment before murmuring, "My superiors would be furious if they knew I'm telling you this." His sincere gaze met mine again, bright even in the dusk. "The NPA has been compromised considerably since we lost your father, Sayu-san, and corruption has slipped in, but it's impossible to say who's trustworthy and who isn't. I'd advise you not to trust any of them."

My heartbeat quickened at the words. While Dad was in charge, I'd known most of the men working under him, at least a little, and I'd always been received warmly at the precinct. It had never occurred to me before that that could have changed so drastically.

"What's any of that have to do with me?"

"Probably nothing." He mumbled under his breath, "Outside the fact that your fiancé went missing inexplicably."

My ears perked up, and my chest tightened. "Wait. Are you saying maybe the NPA is behind that? As in, maybe they kidnapped Touta themselves?"

That just couldn't be true. All those men and women had sworn to protect the peace and defend the community. At the very least, they'd never compromise the safety of one of their own.

Once, Touta had mentioned that things had gotten weird since the Kira case ended. I supposed that all had to do with Dad being dead, as well as with the notebook and Kira's identity.

_Damn you, Light._

"I'm not sure," Tachi explained, hesitantly. "I don't have enough information on what exactly happened to Matsuda, I just find it odd no one could find him, not even with the chief himself on the investigation."

"Aizawa and Touta are friends," I said immediately. "He wouldn't kidnap him."

Gravely, Tachi nodded, but said, "Again, I'm sorry, because I know you have personal feelings regarding the NPA, but the fact of the matter is, it remains to be seen… Only Matsuda can explain where he was for five days, and…" With another long pause, he averted his gaze, and then practically whispered, "If they took him away the second he turned up, like you described, it's possible they didn't want him to leak something."

"That still doesn't make sense to me," I insisted. "Why would anyone abduct Touta in the first place?"

"Matsuda has some very dangerous information, Sayu," he said, all the more seriously. "Information about Kira and the notebook."

Gasping, I stared hard at him, barely believing what I'd heard, but it couldn't have been a slip of the tongue. "You know about the notebook?"

He jerked his head, stiffly. "A bit."

Dazed, I watched him speak. Knowing anything about the notebook—even knowing it existed at all—wasn't a privilege everyone shared in. For being so young, he must be a really valuable detective, possibly some sort of secret agent. The kind Touta wanted to be.

"What's important," Tachibana continued, unaware of how he'd impressed me, "is, until this gets sorted out, I'd be very careful about who you speak with at the NPA. Some of those people could be enemies."

What an unfamiliar word, enemies. Most people didn't have enemies—not the way Tachi meant, anyway. Sure, I'd had run-ins with kids in high school, kids who didn't like me, and I would have called them enemies, but this was a different kind of enemy. A true threat.

Touta, though, had enemies. Serious enemies. He'd downplayed that fact, tirelessly, since the Reaper case ended, and I'd tried to ignore it, but I hadn't forgotten that some people wanted to see him dead.

Swallowing hard, I said, "I can't just hide, Tachi. Not when I know Touta might be in danger."

"Oh, right." Tachi sighed. "I apologize for not making things clearer." He met my gaze, sharply. "I'm not sure you can trust Touta either, Sayu."

The hammering of my heart stopped.

"No way," I argued at once. "I know him. If there is corruption, it's impossible for him to be involved."

"Are you sure it's impossible, Sayu?" Tachi asked, softly.

Toying with my necklace, I thought about it. Touta had had his moments, so I knew he could hold his own. He'd shot my brother, and—

_No._ I shook my head, clearing the thought away, like I always did. _I can't think about that._

Tachi went on. "It's improbable, I'll give you that, but it's certainly not impossible. I just can't get over how strange it is that the chief himself couldn't find Matsuda—he had more than a dozen officers on the case."

"But not you?" I confirmed. This guy didn't know anything about Touta or what he was capable of.

"No. I've been busy with my own directive." Tachi leaned back against his tree, hands in his pockets, and whispered, "It's scary to think about what could become of Light Yagami's family in the midst of all this chaos."

He must know Light had been Kira also.

My heart softened toward him. Even if he didn't know Touta well enough to realize he couldn't possibly be involved in anything bad, at least he seemed genuine in wanting to protect my mother and me.

"And…you really believe I can't trust Aizawa or Ide?"

"I can't say one way or another, I'm simply advising against it." Heaving another weighty breath, he spent a few moments staring at the ground, clearly troubled by the idea. Gently, he instructed, "If someone from the NPA contacts you, please keep me informed. Don't take any risks, just use your discretion, and tell me what they say. Especially if Matsuda contacts you again."

"He hasn't contacted me at all so far," I admitted, bitterly.

Tachi looked up, mouth hanging open as he stammered out, "O-oh, I'm sorry… I just assumed he would have."

_He absolutely would, so why hasn't he?_

"They won't let him," I murmured, in an effort to console myself.

"That's suspicious," Tachi remarked. "Not being _allowed_ to contact your own fiancée after being abducted. He's practically best friends with the chief; you'd think he'd be able to…" Suddenly, he broke off, running his fingers through his hair, taking a deep breath, as if to compose himself. "Excuse me, Sayu-san. Of course, I have no idea what his situation may be like. I'm only saying, if I were him, I'd do anything it took to get a message to you." Tentatively, he flashed a quiet smile. "I guess, maybe, I'm just young and stupid." He laughed under his breath.

I stood, staring into the distance, mulling it over, and feeling unwelcome doubts nag at my mind. With his new responsibilities, Touta had grown much more cautious, and yet, I still believed he would do anything—break any rule, breach any protocol—to let me know things were going to be all right.

_Either he really can't, or he doesn't want to at all._

Each sounded equally terrible.

Tachi took my hands between his, drawing my attention to his spectacular green eyes.

"I want to help you," he husked. "God knows it's not what I'm supposed to be doing, but I admire your love for Sergeant Matsuda. I promise I'll do whatever I can to help you figure out where he is."

"Thank you," I whispered, raggedly, trying to hide the tears welling in my eyes.

"I'm sure everything will turn out all right." He released my hands to go and pick up my bike for me. "We'll keep in touch and put together as many pieces as we can. Until then, try not to worry." Wearing a warm, reassuring smile again, he turned to me, and I told myself I was lucky that at least one person wanted to help me.

After that, Tachi exchanged numbers with me, insisting it would be okay to call him at any time of the day or night, especially if I felt uneasy about something, or if the police contacted me, but that it would also be fine if I simply wanted to talk or felt alone.

Telling me he wouldn't want my mother to worry, he urged me to get home as quickly as possible, and then simply turned and walked away.

I watched a moment, as he faded into the twilight, and then set out slowly, pushing my bike and thinking.

Over the course of the Reaper case, I'd gradually come to understand that Touta was more or less at the center of all that, but it hadn't been until Aizawa explained to me about the death note that the full implications had hit me.

Honestly, I hadn't wanted to hear from either of them ever again, but Aizawa had showed up at my house, asking for just a few moments of my time, promising, in his cantankerous way, that he didn't have a lot of his own time to waste with me. Possibly, that somewhat rude candor had been the only thing that kept me from shutting the door in his face, but I'd never forget how very serious he'd looked as we'd stepped outside, where my mother couldn't overhear.

_"There are a few things you need to understand,"_ he'd said, _"about this whole thing with Matsuda and your brother."_

_ "I don't want to understand,"_ I'd retorted, at once.

_"Bullshit,"_ he'd grumped, and I'd known then that he'd taken the gloves off before coming over. He didn't care that I was a woman. He didn't care that I was young. He didn't even care who my father was. _"You do want to understand, and once you understand, you're free to do whatever the hell you feel like, but until then, just listen to me."_

_"I don't see what there is to understand,"_ I'd sniped back, determined to be just as rude. _"That dick shot my brother. That's simple enough."_

_"No."_ Even now, I could see him shaking his head, expression unusually contrite. _"It's not that simple. And if you'd shut your smart mouth a second, you'd see that."_

Finally, I'd decided hearing him out would be the quickest method to get him to go away, so I'd listened, but I hadn't been prepared for the strange things he'd told me about Light and his shinigami, Ryuuk, or the deadly notebook, which, Aizawa believed, had warped my brother's mind.

_"I don't know who your brother was before he picked that thing up," _Aizawa had sighed, scraping his fingers across his goatee, _"other than he was Soichiro's boy, and everybody liked him just as much as they liked your father. I don't even know how he got the damn thing, exactly. But by the time he was through with it—or it was through with him—I wouldn't even say he was Light anymore."_

_"That's still no excuse," _I'd told him. _"Matsuda didn't have the right to kill him."_

_"I agree. Matsuda had no right. But I was there, Sayu, and no, I won't insult you by trying to justify his actions, but I will say…Matsuda had a reason for what he did, and it's very likely he even saved someone's life."_ He'd leveled one of his dead serious, no nonsense looks on me. _"If anyone ever pushed me, I'd tell them Matsuda acted out of self defense, and no one could argue."_

_ "Well, he still killed my brother. And there is no justifying that to me."_

_"He didn't kill your brother,"_ he'd rumbled. _"That's what I came to tell you. He shot him, yes, but Light survived. The shinigami I mentioned is the one that killed Light. He wrote his name down, and Light died of a heart attack."_ At that point, he'd thrust a handful of papers at me. _"I brought you the autopsy report, in case you're interested."_

I hadn't known if Aizawa had access to that kind of information or how he'd gotten it, but he wasn't a deceptive sort of man, so I'd perused it. Nevertheless, I hadn't been able to stomach looking at it for long. The cause of death had been recorded as a heart attack, despite the multiple gunshot wounds.

_"Why should I believe this?" _I'd demanded. _"Shinigami? Death note? Come on. Nobody would believe a thing like this."_

_"Life is like that, Sayu,"_ he'd explained, gravely. _"Bizarre things happen, and you can choose to believe them or not. All I care about is that you understand that Matsuda did not murder your brother, and you don't have any reason to hate him."_

At the time, I'd told him Matsuda shooting my brother was reason enough, and it had taken a lot of thought for me to change my mind. Likely, if I hadn't already loved Touta so much, I never could have gotten past that fact, but what Aizawa had said helped.

Wiping my eyes, I pushed those thoughts away. Even now, if I thought too hard about what Touta had done, contempt might creep in, and it could turn into hatred.

_No. I could never hate you now. You mean too much to me._

In some ways, I had to leave the old Matsuda behind, separate the man who'd shot my brother from the man I loved, and keep going.

Before Aizawa had left, he'd gone on to explain, _"Today, I told you something really dangerous—something I've tried very hard to hide. No one is supposed to know Light was Kira. We decided that to protect you and your mother. And no one can know that Matsuda shot him. If they find that out, it's possible they'll be able to uncover Kira's identity. But also…"_ He'd sighed, looking disturbed. _"I'm afraid of what could happen to him. The Reaper wanted him dead, and whatever's left of his gang still does. I have no idea what the NPA or anybody else would do with that information, but I seriously doubt the shinigami will matter to them any more than it does to you right now. So keep all this to yourself."_

_"Fine,"_ I'd muttered.

Sternly, he'd glared at me._ "I trust you're smart enough to do that."_

_"Who would I tell?" _I'd sniffed._ "Nobody would believe that screw-up had the guts to shoot Kira in the first place."_

His eyes had narrowed with irritation, but he'd merely grunted.

Since then, that conversation had rattled at the back of my mind, constantly reminding me that my boyfriend was, in a way, in terrible danger. Despite the blithe, oblivious way he conducted himself, driving me around town, taking me on dates I wasn't sure he could honestly afford, the fact that he'd assaulted Kira hung constantly over his head, a black cloud, threatening to burst and smother him.

Now it seemed as if that very thing could have happened, if Tachibana thought Touta had been abducted because he had information on Kira, or if the NPA had turned against him. For all I knew, the leftovers of Reaper's gang could be behind it.

I'd been afraid of that, but to hear someone say those things out loud froze me to my core.

Not being able to trust the NPA, though, was a new kind of bleak. I didn't want to think that could really be possible, but Tachi seemed convinced. Why else would an NPA detective take time out of his day to warn me against his own organization?

Apparently, he'd been ordered to keep tabs on my mother and I because the NPA had been compromised, but that made me wonder who had given him that assignment in the first place. Originally, I'd assumed it must be the chief—he had a personal interest in us—Tachi hadn't made it sound that way, though. He must be working for someone higher up.

It could simply be a different bureau of the NPA. The whole agency couldn't be corrupt, could it?

For all I knew, the prime minister himself had ordered that the matter be looked into after the previous commissioner, Oshima, started working with criminals.

Either way, I got the feeling if I called up Aizawa and asked him about Tachibana, he might not even know who he was.

_I can't even get a hold of him,_ I reminded myself, angrily, and then I checked my phone, just to be sure I hadn't missed a call from him. Nothing, as usual.

Both he and Ide really seemed concerned when Touta went missing, and they'd really seemed to be looking for him, day after day, putting their own lives on hold, and no matter how distraught I'd become, Aizawa had always taken the time to reassure me. I'd never thought to doubt him.

_How, though, could he have failed?_

As Tachi had said, a matter that captured the undivided attention of the chief himself should have wrapped up differently.

_Maybe I can't trust them._

With my fiancé's life on the line, I didn't dare make a mistake.

Still, even if the NPA was corrupt—even if _Aizawa_ was corrupt—I just couldn't believe he'd betray Touta.

Again, I reviewed the day Aizawa came to my house; I hadn't made it easy on him, and he'd gotten impatient with me after a short time, told me he couldn't control what I thought or did, but that he'd wanted me to know the truth, and that was all.

As he'd walked away, I'd suddenly felt the urge to call after him, _"Why did you tell me any of this? Why does it matter to you so much?"_

_"Because."_ He'd faced me. _"He's been through enough, and so have you, and you care about each other."_ He'd sighed, anger fizzling into frustration. _"I…don't want whatever you have—had—to be just another thing Kira tore apart. He's dead, and we all deserve to move on."_

Those words, I'd taken to heart. Shinigami and death notes were just footnotes to me in a life destroyed by Kira, but Aizawa's words had let me know that I had a decision to make, and whether or not Kira continued to ruin and control my life, was completely up to me.

The man who'd said those meaningful words didn't seem like he had it in him to be a traitor. I'd known him since I was a small child, and I trusted him.

_So why won't he call me back? Why won't anyone let me talk to Touta?_

As much as I didn't like to think about it, not telling me where Touta was did seem to hint at some kind of surreptitious activity. The real question was, who was actually behind it, and what did they want?

Tears welled in my eyes. _Is it possible…he doesn't _want_ to talk to me? Is it possible…he doesn't even care?_

Pausing on the side of the road, I stared up at the moon, drifting upward in the east, unreachable and mysterious.

Talking with Tachibana had only raised more questions.


	10. Chapter 10

**Ide**

* * *

As if to add insult to injury, we found the elevator at Matsuda's apartment broken, taped off with an out of order sign slapped on the door, and after such a hectic day, climbing five flights of stairs was the last thing I wanted to do.

"This is ludicrous," I grumbled, plodding beside Shuichi. "Boko can't be serious."

Matsuda jaunted ahead of us, energetic, but lacking enthusiasm, and I kept going back through the morning's events, painfully remembering watching the idiot try to get his tie on with his injured fingers, fussing about everything with child-like annoyance, and the apologetic but trusting way he'd watched me when I'd finally tied it for him.

From the beginning, Matsuda's strange ineptitudes and faulty coping mechanisms had made him seem vulnerable and incapable, but long gone were the days I'd gotten frustrated with it, and over time, I'd accepted that he needed me to be strong for him.

After watching him throw a special forces meathead to the ground in less than five seconds, maybe I should be relieved to know he didn't need that from any of us anymore, but instead I felt devastated. As much as I'd been refusing to acknowledge it all day, Matsuda was gone.

Beside me, Aizawa looked absolutely drained, and worry ribbed his forehead at all times. In the car he'd tried to warn Matsuda that Boko was exploiting his condition, but Matsuda had merely answered, "I know," as if he couldn't care less, and since then, the chief had sank into interminable silence.

"Why would anyone do this to him?" I asked again, though there probably wasn't a real reason. I just couldn't get my mind around why anyone would want to hurt such a gentle, trusting soul.

"I doubt they meant to," Matsuda called over his shoulder. "When they took me on the helicopter, they tried to kill me."

"How reassuring," I muttered, but it seemed all the more sick—kidnapping him, torturing him, using him against us, all the while intending to murder him the second they got what they wanted.

"Anyway, it's a lot more important that somebody has the notebook," Matsuda decided, letting us into the apartment and tromping across the living room. I checked automatically to see if his shoes had torn any of the tatami mats.

While Aizawa and I knelt down to remove our own shoes, Matsuda radiated impatience, watching us relentlessly and drumming his fingers against the breakfast bar. The way he'd always bounced through his day-to-day life, disorganized and careless, I wasn't used to seeing him so antsy, but it seemed like a sign that some part of him was still working the right way, and I slowed what I was doing to observe him.

As soon as our gazes touched, he demanded, "When do you think they'll start using it?"

I glanced at my partner, used to him taking the control in every situation. I'd always marveled over his ability to always know exactly what to do, to execute a plan, and even how to convince others to follow him. I supposed that was what they called charisma.

Today, though, he simply stared around the apartment, lips fixed in a thick pout, and I got the sense he hadn't heard Matsuda's question at all.

He hadn't seemed to know what to do at the station, either, allowing Boko the opportunity to take over, and if I'd known Aizawa was going to completely cave under the pressure of chain of command, I'd have done something differently myself.

"When do you think they'll start using the notebook?" Matsuda asked again, though his tone didn't change.

At last, I answered, "Soon, I'd guess. L can probably figure out where—maybe even _who_—they are once that starts, but…" I couldn't stop the sigh that slipped through my teeth. "That means a whole new Kira."

"Nah." Matsuda shrugged out of his coat, scanning his apartment with an analytical expression and not showing the slightest sign of relief to be there. "I doubt it."

Massaging my brow, I wandered across the living room. I felt as ragged as my partner looked, and it would be nice to get at least a few minutes to recharge, possibly even a good night's sleep. That just wasn't going to happen here, on the crappy couch.

"This isn't Light." Matsuda popped into his kitchen, still wearing his Oxfords, and grabbed a bottled water from the fridge. "Their methods are really different, and probably their motives too."

"I suppose you know about that," I murmured, distractedly, and I couldn't stop watching his shoes, telepathically willing him to kick them off some place, even if it wasn't next to the door.

Thoughtfully, he sipped his water, and tilted his head to one side. "The method is way more chaotic than anything Light ever did. I mean, it seems like everything they did today was completely left to chance. I don't really get that, but I know it means they're bound to make a serious mistake before too long."

I tore my eyes away from his shoes to search his expression again. Matsuda's investigative style had always seemed haphazard, in that he either put random things together in a way I couldn't follow, or else he took a wild guess and stuck with it until he found his way to something. Whoever had done this to him could have made a serious mistake already, if they'd underestimated him.

According to Near, the answers were in Matsu's mind, and it looked like this brainwashing technique had sharpened his focus. As I stared into his eyes, I genuinely wondered what he would lead us to if we let him follow his gut.

Aizawa came to life at last.

"I'm worried about you," he called out. "I don't think you should be doing this."

"Director Boko is right, though," Matsuda answered, in his machine-like tone. "I'm better this way. All I want is to achieve my directive."

"That's why, though, Matsuda," Aizawa insisted, going to join him in the kitchen, and from the way he squared his shoulders and adapted an authoritative tone, I knew he was bound and determined to make Matsuda understand his concerns. "You obviously don't care about your life right now."

"That's not true," Matsuda countered, quieter than before. "I do."

"Do you?" I asked, sitting down at the breakfast bar. "The way you jumped out of that helicopter—hell, the way you drive now—doesn't make it seem like you do."

"Wanting to survive isn't an emotion," Matsuda decided, giving me a serious look. "It's instinct."

Shaking my head, I didn't bother explaining how all the emotions that would normally protect him—fear, for example—seemed to be gone now. Instead, I gestured to the yellowed stalk and wilting leaves of the plant sitting at my elbow. "Your bamboo looks weak, Spock."

Lounging back against the fridge, drinking water, Matsuda barely considered the plant. "Yeah, I guess nobody bothered to water Hashi while I was missing."

No surprise Matsuda had named his bamboo, but the dark humor behind the name did catch me off guard, and then, all too easily, I could picture how pleased he must have been when he thought of it, how he must have laughed to himself about it. For all I knew, he'd come into HQ bragging about the dumb name he'd given his plant, and now…

This Matsuda didn't seem like he'd bother to name his first-born child.

"We were busy looking for you," Aizawa told him, clearly still trying to reach his emotions. "We didn't think about your plant."

Normally, he'd panic and water the stalk immediately, but tonight he shrugged, carelessly. "Thanks for worrying."

Words and tone remained polite at least, but tracking around in his shoes and letting his plant die just wasn't normal, and obviously this hypnosis went deeper than simply altering his general emotional reactions.

As I took the plant over to the sink to fill the base, I thought to myself that even though it seemed like he didn't care about anything now, it might be possible to find him in there somewhere, that if he came across something he cared deeply about, it would show.

Matsuda had always cared too much about everything. On top of showing boundless enthusiasm for nearly anything even remotely interesting, he was the kind of person to extend help and concern to everyone around him. Once, while we were working on the Kira case, I'd caught a bad cold, and of course, he'd been the one to bring me soup all week, the one to offer to take on my work load so I could rest. Despite my embarrassment and all the times I'd snapped at him to just leave me alone, he'd been the one who'd tried to look after me.

And after Deputy Director Yagami died, he'd come in every day, singing a song, being extra nice to everyone, speaking gently to Light, trying to comfort him in the face of his father's death, despite the fact that we could all see plainly on his face how his own heart was breaking.

In many ways, he'd always reminded me of my little brother Tamaki. While my older brothers and I had grown up scrapping and yelling a lot, Tamaki had tried to stay out of it and keep the peace, and even though Matsuda was a thousand times more rambunctious than my brother, they shared those qualities of kindness and compassion. For lack of a manlier word, the kid was sweet.

Suddenly, I regretted all the times I'd ever been tough on him or yelled at him, and I wished, like everything, that I had done more to defend that softness, just like I suddenly wished I had watered his bamboo while he was missing.

"That's too much," Matsuda announced, drawing me out of my thoughts. "Now you're drowning it."

Stupidly, I dumped some of the water back out of the base as best I could, losing only a few stones, and set it on the counter again to face him, reluctantly. He still looked like Matsuda anyway, aside from the cold expression that had turned his eyes so steely. "I wish you'd been a gardener after all," I told him, against my better judgment.

"Florist," Matsuda corrected, casually.

"Whatever." I rolled my eyes. "The point is…you don't really want to pursue your directive, right? You're being controlled. You know, that, don't you?"

"Of course I know that," he answered, seriously.

"What Ide's trying to say," Aizawa charged in, "is if we can change that before locating the notebook, it would be better for you. Safer."

Matsuda blinked, like that hadn't occurred to him.

"Exactly." I got my cigarettes out and lit one. "So maybe what we need to do is take a breather, catch up on our sleep before we get started."

"Sure." Matsuda shrugged. "I doubt there's anything we can do right this second."

"Besides that, I think what you need to do is ignore Boko and hang back." I took a deep drag off my cigarette, looking for some semblance of calm.

After all, Matsuda's random investigative methods weren't the only way to solve a case; Aizawa and I would find the facts, even without the hunches and vibes Matsuda tended to detect, and we'd sort this all out, break the perp's head wide open for messing with our buddy, and—

Shuichi nudged me, harshly. "Not in here." He jerked his chin at the balcony, and then faced Matsuda again, while I stifled my annoyance and slunk over to open up the door.

Outside, dusky twilight settled over the city, but the cars buzzing by, unaware of our difficulties, reminded me of how uncaring this world truly was.

"Ide's right," Aizawa went on sternly. "There's no reason for you to be involved at this point. We're going to do this without you."

"I don't know about that, Aizawa," Matsuda argued mildly. "Boko said—"

"I don't really care what Boko said."

Normally, the kid would relent out of respect for the chief, but I heard him snort, "I'm not sitting this out just because you're afraid," and for once, Aizawa shut up, stumped by the cold resolve in Matsuda's voice.

_I want him back._

Seeing him this way, so close yet so absent…it _hurt_. I wanted him to tease me and laugh, prattle excitedly about celebrity gossip; and if not, I wanted him to be angry and shout, rage about how unfair it was, whine about how painful it all was; I wanted him blame himself for things he hadn't done, pout when I told him what to do, lean on me if he was hurt or tired, the way he had the night we picked him up at the gas station.

"Boko thinks getting the notebook and finding the code go hand in hand," I announced suddenly. "But what if we find the right combination of words to deprogram you?"

"I guess, then, I might _want_ to sit this one out," Matsuda told me, sounding bewildered by the idea. "But there's an infinite number of word combinations. For all we know, the code is in German, or Italian, or some language we've never even heard of. It would be crazy to think one of you will just happen to say the right thing."

I frowned at him. "I don't like you this way."

A very slight, insincere smile touched his lips. "I don't really like you this way either."

Staggered by the words, I gawked at him. Matsuda had always liked me. His way of making me feel smart and talented, important, special, had caught me off guard, in the beginning, and there'd been a short time when I hadn't quite trusted it; I'd thought he was an ass-kisser, sucking up to a lieutenant.

All too soon, though, through sheer persistence of attitude, he'd shown me that he meant what he said when he paid me a compliment, and he wasn't faking when he sat hanging off my every word. Sure, he dissed on my music and teased me about still being a bachelor in my forties, but beyond that, I knew he thought the world of me. Sometimes, the way he grinned at me, eyes lighting up, made me think he even loved me.

"You don't really mean that," I muttered. "Right? You just aren't—"

"We need more data," Aizawa boomed, from where he'd been pacing around the coffee table, fists jammed deep in his pockets. He had his unapologetic way of interrupting, but I doubted he'd even noticed Matsuda and I were talking, he looked so focused.

Nothing I'd been about to say would have made a difference anyway. I pushed my feelings to the back of my mind.

Aizawa went on. "If we find out more about sleeper cells in general, maybe we can figure something out that'll help us."

Of course, he wasn't even thinking about resting; he'd want to use every modicum of time available to figure this out, which, again, meant no going home, and God knows how many nights stuck in this drafty apartment.

"If that's what you guys really want to spend your time on," Matsuda said casually, "I have books on it."

Aizawa paused and asked, "_You_ have _books_?" like it was the strangest thing he'd heard all day.

"Sure." Matsuda stalked over to a small shelf beside his DVD collection. "I bought them before the internet caught on."

"I didn't know you read," I snorted, tossing the remains of my cigarette over the edge of the balcony and stepping back inside to join them.

Matsu gave me an almost reproachful look. "Everyone reads, Taniki-tan."

Hearing him call me that in such a cold voice felt like getting stabbed with an icicle, and I couldn't bite back a wince, or bear to tell him he was wrong.

"Just have to find what you're interested in." Finally, he chose a volume from the shelf and tossed it to Aizawa. "Take a look."

"Detective's Encyclopedia," Aizawa intoned, and his brow furrowed upward in skepticism. "This looks like a kid's book."

"I got it when I was a kid," Matsuda told him, and sat down on his couch, balancing a stack of books on his knee.

Startled to find he had so many, I leaned over to take one and thumb through a history of detective stories, complete with illustrations. It wasn't much help, but, easily, I imagined him as a little boy, amped up at the thought of rugged, smart detectives chasing bad guys, hiding under the blankets with a flashlight to read deep into the night, not so different from the way I'd been thirty years ago. "You've always wanted to be a cop, huh?"

"I guess so. I never wanted to be a sleeper cell, though."

It was so close to an emotional statement, Aizawa and I exchanged furtive looks. I saw a ray of hope in his eyes and automatically held my breath. For as long as I'd known him, he'd been able to always fix everything—almost everything—all he had to do was set his mind to it and dig in his heels. One of the most comforting aspects of my life had become the fact that, somewhere, while I slept, Shuichi Aizawa doggedly strove to make the world perfect.

If he couldn't fix this, I worried it might destroy him.

"Oh, hey, that reminds me." Aizawa got his wallet out suddenly and picked a creased photograph from the fold, handing it to Matsuda. "I've been meaning to give this back to you."

Matsuda took it and studied it a long while, as if having a hard time determining what it was or its value, and I glanced at it also, from my place behind him, but I'd looked good and hard at my own copy plenty of times while searching for him. Two feckless kids, having a cheap date in one of the most interesting cities in the world, happy, and trying to leave behind all the things that made them unhappy, moving on together.

_At least Matsuda's alive,_ I reminded myself. Mere days ago, I'd been certain he was dead, kept awake by the thought, and even if he wasn't quite Matsuda now, it was good to see him there on his couch, battered, but safe.

In time, I'd find a way to help him. Until then, I'd stay right by his side. He'd come around and remember he loved me.

After wanting so badly to call Sayu, complaining for days that he just needed to hear her voice, I expected the photo to spark some emotional reaction in him. That must be why Aizawa had chosen this moment to give it to him, and accordingly, he watched Matsuda with keen interest.

"Oh, yeah," he said slowly, still in that sickeningly apathetic way. "That's right. I proposed to Sayu."

My jaw dropped. He shouldn't have said it that way. No. He should have waltzed into the station the day it happened, yammering incessantly about his big news, giving details to anyone who'd listen, gushing about how excited he was to marry the woman he loved, joking that his mother would finally stop nagging him. One of those things we'd have to congratulate him for a dozen times each before we started groaning and pretending we couldn't stand to hear it anymore.

After all, I wanted him to marry Sayu. Weird as it all seemed, I wanted him to find happiness with Soichiro-san's daughter, be the one to look after the remnants of Kira's family. I knew all about balancing what you wanted with what you had and finding contentment in unexpected places. I couldn't even blame Shuichi for impulsively telling Sayu about the death note; we'd all seen that she made Matsuda a braver, stronger man, and that they'd given each other hope when it had looked like they were both on the brink of giving up. I'd been expecting him to propose to her not a month after they started going steady. I'd been prepared to give him my sincerest congratulations and to take him out to celebrate until dawn. I'd expected him to tell me before he told anyone else.

Finding out this way felt like getting punched.

"When?" Aizawa asked, voice hushed by shock.

"A while ago," Matsuda said.

"Why didn't you tell us?" I wondered, faintly.

Momentarily, Matsuda gazed at the ceiling, trying to remember how it used to feel. "I was nervous. I cared too much what you guys might think." He tossed the photo onto the table, disinterestedly, and lay back on the couch, head pillowed on his arms. "Anyway, I'd better break it off. Sachiko was right—this is no life for a woman."

"How can you say that?" I murmured, thinking of Kei and how much I missed her. I'd gotten to see her today at the station, but only for a moment; still, I could feel her hand on mine, still see the earnest concern as her blue eyes stared up at me, and hear the compassion in her voice as she whispered, _"You can talk to me, Hideki…"_

But I couldn't. Not only was our mission classified, I wasn't sure I had the words to explain what had happened, let alone the way it made me feel.

"Look at the chief." Matsuda jerked his chin at Shuichi, who'd gone completely still, eyes shadowed by grief at how badly his hopes had been dashed. "Fighting with Eriko all the time."

"It's worth it though." I turned, quickly, to Shuichi. "Isn't it? At the end of the day, coming home to the one person who will love you no matter what, even if you fight, isn't it worth it?"

Agonized, Shuichi merely stared at me.

"It's worth it," I insisted, when I realized my partner wasn't going to answer. "Fighting doesn't matter when you love someone."

"Forget fighting, then," Matsuda decided, tonelessly. "Asking her to wait up all night is bad enough. Expecting her to be a widow isn't worth it. It's best to be alone in our line of work."

Aizawa roared to life, starting forward and raising his voice, and I noticed he was shaking. "What about Sayu? How are you going to explain all that to her?"

Poor Sayu. When she called today, it had been hard not to tell her anything when she was so obviously worried, but seeing Matsuda this way would only hurt her worse.

"She loves you!" Shuichi insisted.

"Yeah, but I don't care anymore," Matsuda told us, all too simply, and I was beginning to hate the sound of his voice, saying so many wrong things with his familiar mouth. "She won't want to marry someone who doesn't love her."

"Matsuda," I croaked. "Is that…really how you feel now?"

He shrugged. "I can see more clearly, that's all. It isn't going to work. She'll understand that."

"Doubtful," Aizawa growled, beginning to look angry. I didn't feel angry, though, just much sadder than I would have imagined.

Kei said it today. _You look sad._ And I'd lied to her and told her I was just tired, which I was. But in truth, it did make me extremely sad to know I'd let Matsuda down so badly.

"Besides," Matsuda went on, glibly, "you know better than anyone I'm probably going to get killed carrying out my directive."

I winced.

Aizawa snapped. Slinging the book across the room, he roared, "Don't you dare talk that way to me, Matsuda!"

Unfazed, Matsuda studied him.

I went over, quietly, to pick up the discarded book and make sure it was okay.

"I have no reason to think you're going to die!" Shuichi raged on. "Other than you're being just as stupid as you always are!"

"You said yourself I'm in a dangerous state."

"You are! But you're not going to die! We're going to find the sick bastard who did this to you and force him to change you back!"

"Aizawa, I don't think you really understand—"

"_You_ don't understand!" Shuichi jabbed a finger at him. "Just because you don't have any emotions right now doesn't mean no one else does!"

"Yeah, duh," Matsuda snorted.

I set the book down with the others and frowned at Shuichi. Flying off the handle. as usual, out of his own fear and sorrow, thinking he could shout down his problems and make them shrink away.

Screaming at Matsuda had never been overly effective, as he just seemed to forget it almost immediately, but tonight, he simply sat on the couch, watching Aizawa's rage with more curiosity than anything. Suddenly, he said, "It's not my fault you let yourself care about me, Aizawa."

Shuichi's eye started to twitch. "Excuse me? You have some goddamn balls… You made it this way, Touta!"

"Not really. I was only ever just being myself. Sure, I wanted you to approve of me, I wanted you to respect me, and I'll even admit I wanted you to _like_ me. But I never asked you to step in and be my big brother, chasing off bullies and trying to take care of me all the time. You're the one who made it that way."

Nervously, I watched Aizawa heave and tremble with outrage. Past his salty demeanor, Shuichi had always cared too much. In other's company, he'd bitched about how dumb I was to live in a stranger's basement, eating nothing but pizza and donuts all the time, but when we were alone, he'd always had to force the issue—_I don't want you to die, _or, _I don't want you to die alone. I wish you weren't so difficult—then maybe you could make some freakin' friends. I wish you'd take better care of yourself._

No, he could rarely come right out and say, _I care about you, Hideki_, but over the course of the first decade that I'd known him, he'd made it obvious that he wanted to look after me.

No surprise. I'd joined the NPA to make sure criminals got what they deserved, but he'd joined to protect the innocent, and he'd always been the one passing out blankets to victims while I crammed villains in the back of the cruiser. Together, we'd made a good team. Together, we'd solved a lot of cases. But I'd seen him beat himself up far too many times for the cases we couldn't solve and the people we couldn't protect.

Over time, I'd watched him grow jaded by failure. Light had vanished from his eyes, and laughter became sparse, but he'd learned to divide himself from his feelings better, to keep people at a distance, do things his own way, and not take it so personally when something happened he couldn't fix.

Past that gruff exterior he'd built, though, I knew his sense of compassion hadn't changed, and his relationship with Matsuda only went to prove it.

"You idiots did this together," I cut in. "You became friends."

Scowling down at Matsuda, Aizawa nodded. "We're friends, Touta. Just because you don't remember that right now doesn't change it."

Flippantly, Matsuda replied, "I remember, Aizawa. I just don't care. Nothing matters but my directive."

Aizawa heaved a defeated sigh and dropped into the arm chair, muttering, "Right. Your goddamned directive."

Clearly, words alone couldn't reach him, and if we wanted to get him back, we'd have to try something else. Sure, it would be nice to tell myself that Shuichi would fix this, but as I sat down and picked up one of the books, I worried that letting Matsuda carry out his directive might be the only way to help him.

* * *

**Matsuda**

* * *

_Get the notebook. Get the notebook. Get the notebook…_

The voice was the first thing I became aware of—rattling endlessly, demanding something I didn't know how to accomplish, and past the numbness of sleep and desensitization, I found myself beginning to feel slightly annoyed with it.

_Some emotions are left_, I thought, without satisfaction, and put the pillow over my head.

I didn't understand how all this worked, just like I didn't have any answers to all Aizawa and Ide's question. I just had to get the notebook.

Having the support of the director and the NPA was supposed to help, but Ide and Aizawa were right about Boko seeming to have ulterior motives, and now that I thought about it, I didn't know if he could help anyway. He'd basically said it was up to me and that I could have whatever I needed along the way, but I'd never been in command of an operation before, and I had no idea where to go or how to even start.

_Get the notebook, get the notebook…_

Shifting in my bed, I tongued the molar where I still felt the smooth, slightly raised shape of the GPS device in my mouth.

Without the element of surprise, I'd never get my hands on the notebook.

_I'm only one man._

In the past, that idea would have scared me.

With a groan, I rolled out of bed and winced as my slashed feet touched the floor. Early morning light filled my apartment, and in the living room, the others were still sleeping, Ide curled up on the recliner with a small blanket, Aizawa snoring on my couch, still clutching one of my books. They'd still been awake when I went to bed last night, researching and talking about me. I knew they wanted to help, but they'd made it clear their goals didn't align with mine, and that meant I was on my own.

Rubbing my scarred arm, I squinted through the balcony door, where the egg-drop yellow of the sun had just begun to burst from beneath the black floor of the city skyline. Every day for nine years, I'd watched that same sight, daydreaming about a future where I might live in the inner city, near the precinct, at the center of the excitement. Touta Matsuda might not ever be the chief, but he'd been determined to climb as high as he could, no matter how long it took, and enjoy the journey. Now…

_Get the notebook. Get the notebook…_

None of that mattered anymore, and I had to focus on my directive.

Quietly, I snuck around the living room, going first to my laptop, hardly able to believe the loud wallpaper I'd chosen, let alone my ridiculous search history—movie release dates, reviews on the latest phones, and celebrity gossip. Once, not long ago, those things had been important to me, and now I barely remembered why.

A quick Google search confirmed what I was about to try was stupid, dangerous, and unnecessary, but the voice insisted, _Get the notebook_, and there wasn't a lot of time.

Taking the laptop with me to the bathroom, I set it carefully on the toilet seat and then I washed my hands and arms all the way up to my elbows, stripping off old bandages and looking dully at all the cuts and bruises they'd left me. I tore the Band-aids from my ruined fingernails just so I could have full functionality of my hands, but barely glanced at the K scar on my arm, ripped open, re-stitched, and more hideous than ever.

It all still hurt. Like the need for sleep, pain still existed, but only as a soft, barely audible murmur, muffled beneath my directive.

_Get the notebook…_

Thoroughly, I brushed my teeth and even flossed, rinsed with mouth wash, and then leaned forward to study the dark shape embedded in my molar.

_They think that'll slow me down. But it can't._

_ Get the notebook. Get the notebook._

In the closet, buried behind ten pairs of shoes I never wore, I found the tool kit my uncle gave me when I got my first apartment. He'd said it was important for a detective to be self-reliant, and I knew now he'd been trying to help me be stronger. It just hadn't worked.

I barely glanced at most of the tools as I shifted through them to take out a sparkling pair of pliers I'd never so much as touched, and then I returned to the bathroom and set them down beside the first aid kit. The internet said it would bleed a lot.

_Get the notebook._

Slowly, senselessly, I drew the photo from my pocket, unfolding it and barely thinking about the creases across the center. There was Sayu—symmetrical face beautiful and fresh, flowing hair, like silk in the sunlight, nails perfectly manicured for our date.

To think, just a few days ago, I would have given anything to get back to her or even hear her voice on the phone.

_Get the notebook._

A guy was with her, close to her, arm around her shoulder, but I hardly recognized those maple eyes squinted in a smile or the face they were set into. He had very straight, white teeth.

I rubbed my tongue across the GPS again.

_Get the notebook._

He looked young and happy, but there was something wild to him I'd never noticed before, suddenly glaringly obvious in his shaggy hair, popped collar, and shining eyes. That man, I thought, had wanted to be reckless and heroic; he'd just never been allowed. Since early childhood, he'd been told not to skateboard, not to fight back, told his interests in murder stories and detective work was morbid, told he'd fail if he chased his dreams—again and again, they'd hammered it into him that he would always be weak.

_Maybe they were right._

Stuffing the photo into my pocket, I picked up the pliers and tilted my head to get a good look at the tooth. Luckily, Tero taking out the one next to it meant it wouldn't be in my way, and besides, at least I knew I'd gone through this before.

Next, I took the time to sanitize the pliers, using the lighter Ide left on my coffee table with his cigarettes, and then reached into my mouth, firmly gripping the molar. The internet had recommended anesthesia, but I didn't have so much as a bottle of sake in the house since I cut back on my drinking.

_Get the notebook._

Icy needle nose shoved against my gums, steel handles lying across my tongue, saliva drooled from my lips. A memory of screaming and thrashing helplessly filled my mind, but the fear was dull—a forgotten haze of feeling.

Pain blazed through my gums as I jerked on the tooth, working it back and forth, severing the ligaments as best I could until my head started to ache. The taste of copper flooded my mouth, draining down the back of my throat, making my stomach queasy.

_Get the notebook._

Hands shaking, I tightened my grip, and a bolt of pain shot straight to my brain. A breath shuddered through my lips.

_Focus._

Shoving all discomfort aside, I began to twist and wrench and yank, gagging against the pliers, braced desperately on the sink, muscles in my jaw contracting, trying to bite down on the steel. Crimson mixed with spit frothed across my tongue and streamed down my face, tears filled my eyes. My voice started whimpering and then shouting.

_Get the notebook._

Twisting with all my might, I tore the tooth from its socket. For a split second, I stared at its gnarly roots and the scarlet dripping from the crown, and then my vision went black and my legs gave out. The last thing I heard was the sound of steel hitting tile.

Through the dimness, I thought I felt hands touching me, tilting my head, prying at my mouth.

_"Holy fuck, Matsuda!_"

"Tilt his head—he'll drown in his own goddamn blood!"

"Hand me that gauze!"

Rough fingers crammed dry cotton into my mouth. Beyond the haze, some details felt almost familiar—sage walls, the line of mossy plants on the glass shelf above my head, scents of soap—but all of it felt dream-like and muted, a place I hadn't been to in a long time.

Frantic shadows flitted around me, grabbing at me with hands that felt far away, and the itch of cool liquid drizzled from my lips.

_Get the notebook._

Deep inside, a different voice started whispering, almost inaudible, but strikingly familiar and powerful. _This isn't right. Something is really wrong._

And then a cold feeling took root in my chest, similar to fear. I tried to get a grasp on it, desperate to touch it, but it drifted further and further from reach, like a cloud crossing the sky.

My body lifted from the floor, floating away.

Past the darkness, I caught a glimpse of Aizawa's flashing eyes, and I heard him grunt, "Heavier than you look, kiddo."

Without understanding why, the cold feeling surged at the sight of him, and I suddenly wanted to call his name, but my mouth wouldn't work, and I wished the knowledge of his being there could comfort me like it used to.

Instead, I simply slipped back into the darkness.

Something damp swept across my forehead. It felt like only a second later. But pain ruled my skull, from the aching between my eyes, to the pounding in my temples, unbearable and constant, and a sharp line of pain lacerated my gums, like someone carving through them with a scalpel.

_Get the notebook._

"He's waking up."

A cool hand brushed my cheek. "Sayu…" I murmured.

As my eyelids flickered open, though, Ide's expression came into focus, wincing mouth curled in horror, eyes wide with concern, gray like rainy skies.

Again, I felt the desire to say his name, reach out to him, because he'd always been there for me in the past, like the day he'd caught me crying by myself over the death of Deputy Director Yagami. I still remembered how shocked I'd felt when he jerked me into a rough hug.

Now none of those memories mattered, because I wasn't that person anymore.

"Touta?" he said quietly, staring me in the eyes.

_That's still my name…_

Sayu's voice rang through my head, _"Peaches, take me dancing!"_

My eyes burned, but I didn't remember how to cry.

_How did they…destroy everything inside me so easily?_

Sick, my heart thudded, and my stomach did back-flips.

With just two words, they'd stolen everything I ever was.

"Touta." Ide pressed his hand to my face, bony but gentle. "Can you hear me?"

Past him, the black and rugged form of Aizawa paced around and around in a tight circle, silhouetted by the balcony. "We need to call the ambulance."

"No," I sputtered, and realized my mouth was full of gauze, still oozing blood and saliva. I tried to sit up, but Ide held me down.

"Dumb ass," he whispered, wincing. "Did you really have to pull out your own tooth?"

"My directive," I reminded him in a garbled voice, and then groaned. Pain burned every corner of my mouth, shooting through my gums and throbbing across my jaw.

"Fuck your directive, Touta." He pressed a damp cloth to my forehead again. "You need a doctor_._"

"Let's call the ambulance," Aizawa said, angrily. "They'll stick him in a mental facility anyway. Near can get the notebook."

_Get the notebook. Get the notebook._

"I won't go," I announced. "I'll fight the medics."

Aizawa finally paused to stare at me, and even though I couldn't make out his face, shadowed against the backdrop of morning, I knew all too well that stern, disbelieving expression. "You won't have a choice when they find out you ripped a tooth out of your skull. You're unstable."

_No. I'm barely even human. More like an animal._

"I won't go," I repeated, slumping back against the couch, passing out again.


	11. Chapter 11

**Kei**

* * *

Early, my phone went off. When I ignored it, it simply rang again, so, finally, I checked the screen, finding the pouting face of Hideki's profile picture glaring expectantly at me. Outside, the sun had barely risen.

"It's Sunday," I grumbled when I answered. "People my age like to sleep in."

A long pause followed.

"Did you butt dial me?"

"Are you at my place?" he asked, finally.

"Why would I be? You haven't been there in days." Even as I said it, I shifted in his bed and gazed around his room, taking in the various pieces of art, the trinkets and candles on the dresser. I felt a little like a dipshit for sleeping there without him, but he'd looked so burned out yesterday, I'd thought he'd go home. I'd waited all night.

"Okay," he sighed, tone laced with stress. "Sorry I bothered you."

"Wait, wait." I sat up, scraping the curtain of blonde out of my face. "I'm kidding. Of course, I'm at your place—your bed is nicer—why do you ask?"

Hideki hesitated again. "Can you do me a favor? A big favor?"

Even though I'd been waiting days now for him to ask me for help or confide in me, I asked, "What's in it for me?"

"Whatever you want," he muttered.

"Carte blanche?"

"Whatever, Kei," he repeated, and again I got a sense of strain in his voice. "Go look in my medicine cabinet. There should be some hemostat and a bottle of penicillin. I need you to bring both to me right away."

This time, I took the pause, staring at the faint edge of the bathroom door across the dark room. "Why do you—"

"I can't explain right now. Sorry. I just need you to bring them to me."

"Is this an emergency?"

"Yes. Yes, it is. Hurry it up."

Back in LA, my old partner, Chad Baker, had taught me that twenty years of being a cop altered what constituted an emergency, and I didn't think Hideki would say that if he didn't mean it, so I jumped out of bed, threw on some clothes, put my hair in a ponytail, and dashed out the door not ten minutes later.

In less than half an hour, I sat in the parking lot outside Matsuda's apartment building, watching Hideki saunter through the gray morning, shielding his eyes against my headlights. When I handed him the medicine, I hoped he'd give me an explanation, but he just muttered, "Thanks."

"You're not supposed to keep that," I told him, just so he wouldn't wander away immediately. "The more people pop antibiotics for their common cold, the more the bacteria mutates, and eventually they'll be totally immune."

Hideki huffed.

"Take as prescribed, Old Man."

"Not right now, Kei," he warned, sounding too dead tired to argue, and he'd turned gray since I saw him at the station—skin like ash, hair like charcoal, eyes like storm clouds. Based off his rumpled shirt, he'd slept in his clothes, and blood splashed the cuff of his left sleeve.

"What's going on?" I asked, looking him over for any sign of injury. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. Just tired."

It hadn't taken me a very long time of dating him to discover 'just tired' was Hideki's standard lie for when he felt upset, and, generally, there was no sure way past it.

"So, what's this emergency?"

He shook his head and lit a cigarette, closing his eyes and leaning heavily against my car. "Where should I start?"

It sounded like he really wanted an answer to that, so I studied the apartment building, picking out Matsuda's balcony, where faint light shone through the curtains. "Is Matsu really so messed up you have to stay here with him?"

"Princess, you couldn't pay me to leave that guy alone right now."

With interest, I studied his face again, noting how very serious he looked. When it came to his friends, he had a way of trivializing his feelings, and normally I think he'd bitch about Matsuda being a whiner and call it a day, whether he was worried or not.

Yesterday, too, he'd been off. He'd brought me lunch, but he'd only spared five minutes to eat with me, and he'd brooded the whole time. No matter how I'd teased him, he wouldn't laugh it off, and it wasn't until I'd commented that he looked sad that he'd finally murmured, _"Yeah…I'll be okay… Just tired."_

"Why isn't he in the hospital?" I asked.

Taking a deep drag of smoke, Hideki stared up at the apartment also, studying the lit balcony. "It's not really a hospital situation. Well, it is. But… I don't know. It's complicated, Kei."

"Okay," I agreed, shrugging and getting out a pack of gum. "I'll ask Chief about it when I get to the station."

"You're going in? It's Sunday, isn't it?"

"Yeah, but I've got nothing better to do."

Hideki tilted his head, as if to say, makes sense, and then mumbled, "Chief's here with us," like he didn't want me to hear him.

I stared at him, hard. "Chief's _here_?"

"Yeah." Hideki rubbed his eyes. "I'm sorry I can't tell you more. It's just really complicated. Kinda classified."

"So what are those for?" I pointed to the penicillin and wound seal.

"For Matsuda."

"But you took him to the hospital the other night. Didn't the doctor prescribe—"

"No. He didn't need antibiotics the other day. I don't know if he does now. I just thought…since I have them…" He sighed. "Anyway, that's all I can tell you. I better go back upstairs." He squeezed my hand. "Thanks again."

My heart sank. Seeing him this way, for only a few moments, was hardly any better than not seeing him at all. "'Kay. Well, tell Chief and Touma I say hello."

"Mmhm." Hideki tried to smile, but the look just rolled over and died, turning his face grimmer than ever.

"Taniki-tan." I grasped his sleeve before he could get away, but he winced, hard, like I'd hurt him.

"Don't call me that right now," he muttered. "Please."

"'Kay, sorry. Just, I miss you."

"I know. I'll try to come home soon."

"Don't worry about it." I smiled—I always did enough smiling for both of us, and right now, he looked like he needed some sunshine—and I tugged gently on his sleeve. "Just call me later."

"I will." He leaned in to kiss me on the forehead, abruptly, and then sauntered away. "Later, sweet girl."

I watched him disappear inside the building, and then I sat there a few minutes longer, trying to figure it out.

When they'd found Matsuda, I'd thought everything would go pretty much back to normal, but things had only gotten weirder. For two days, Hideki wouldn't answer my calls, communicating only through texts—which he hated because he sucked at it—he wouldn't tell me where he was, and no matter what I guessed—the hospital, Matsuda's apartment, Aizawa's house—he'd just insisted he couldn't say. Any time I asked when he'd be home, or at least back at the station, he'd said he didn't know, and he'd seemed more frustrated by that than I was, giving me the impression he was torn between them and the rest of his life.

Finding the three of them holed up here didn't explain anything. Needing hemostat and a half-empty bottle of antibiotics made it sound like Matsuda must be hurt bad enough to be in danger of infection, but, suspiciously, not bad enough to to be hospitalized.

Finally, I pulled out of the parking lot and drove away, but the questions bugged me the rest of the morning.

At the station, things felt mind-numbingly slow.

Plenty of us had been searching for Matsuda. Top detectives had been taken off cases to look for him—Chief made finding one of our own a priority, and that aligned with his past maneuvers to unify the department—no one complained. Some had even volunteered to help, like me. We'd turned the city upside down, to no avail, and a lot of people had started whispering, when Chief wasn't around, that his favorite must be dead.

Nobody relished the fact. Aizawa did a lot of house cleaning after his promotion, transferring and outright expelling officers he didn't trust or who'd turned against him in the Reaper case, which left, in theory, only detectives loyal to him and Hideki. Matsuda had earned quiet nicknames like the chief's little brother and some Japanese equivalent to the teacher's pet, but I knew mostly everyone around here liked him. His absence left the station unnervingly quiet, and the fact that he might be dead had been a blow to morale.

So when we'd found out he was alive, everyone had been relieved and happy. Someone had even thrown together a small celebration in the break room, with cupcakes and punch, and I'd heard whispers about a surprise welcome back party, when the time was right.

I'd thought, at the very least, Hideki would snap out of the bitchy funk he'd been in.

Seeing how that had been more or less wrapped up, and the chief hadn't been in to debrief or reassign anyone, more than a dozen of us had nothing to do, and the unnerving quiet had taken on a flavor of confusion.

_Whatever is going on, it must be a really big deal._

Aizawa never let us work together, but Hideki and I didn't have a problem talking about work or even sharing some details of our respective assignments, so I knew he'd been working all year on tying up the loose ends from the Reaper case, arresting syndicate members and trying to round up the last of the illegal guns that had come to Japan. Hideki had told me Matsuda wasn't allowed to work on that—he'd made it sound like Matsu had to be left in the dark about it completely—because there were still people out there who wanted to punish him for what happened to Kira, and with his history of taking matters into his own hands, Aizawa and Hideki both thought he'd be safest not knowing anything.

His disappearance and now these new, strange events must be tied together, but I was scared to think that the reason Hideki couldn't tell me anything might be because Kira or his notebook were involved.

By lunch, I started going crazy, sitting at my desk and poring over documents I'd read at least a hundred times before. I didn't move all the way to Tokyo and join the NPA to become a desk jockey.

As I waited for Hideki to call me, I began to think that I could get some answers by being more direct with him. He had an uncanny way of thinking a step ahead of me in most conversations, and if he wanted to hide something, he found a way to stump me, leaving me no choice but to drop it.

Thought it had taken a lot of practice, I'd begun to figure out ways to corner him so that he had to answer my questions, and, typically, that meant asking questions in a way he couldn't weasel out of.

One eye always on my phone, I struggled to think of the best ways to phrase my questions, but, then, as time passed, I started to suspect he wasn't planning on calling me at all, and I didn't think I should disturb him.

Finally, just when I felt sure I couldn't take the stagnation anymore, I thought of something I could do, so I left the station, grabbed food from my favorite sushi restaurant, and drove across town to Sayu's house.

She lived in a nice neighborhood, very low-key and quaint. After searching the area and then some with Hideki, turning over every stone without success, I knew it like the back of my hand.

_It would be really nice_, I thought, staring across the road at the house, _to get some closure on that, to know where in the hell he went for so long, and what it has to do with whatever's happening now._

So far, the only info I'd gotten was that Matsu was alive, and that they still didn't know where he'd been or what exactly had happened to him.

I guess they expected that to be good enough, but I couldn't stop kicking myself for not going with them the night they found him. At least then I might have been able to stay with Hideki.

Just as I went to open my car door, I heard a knock on my passenger window and looked over to see Sayu herself frowning in at me.

Grinning brightly, I rolled that window down. "Hey-ya, oneechan!"

"It's oneesan," she corrected, stiffly. "What are you doing here?"

I laughed. "Wow, criticizing my manners and then being rude. You're a handful!"

Her thick brows dipped. I'd really only been around her a couple times—usually with Hideki and Matsuda—but normally she had a refreshing attitude, pensive, but talkative, intelligent, but energetic. I'd never seen her looking so annoyed. "Speaking of rude, it's not polite to show up at someone's house unannounced."

"Your boyfriend sure does it a lot to—"

"What do you want, Komagata?" she asked again, sharper.

"Relax." I picked up one of the doggy bags I'd brought along. "I'm just swinging by with lunch." The smile I gave her was a real winner, a heart melter, the same smile that had been breaking boys' hearts and capturing friends since middle school, but Sayu's frown turned suspicious.

"Come on, girl," I insisted. "It's sushi."

"Not every Japanese person likes sushi, Gaijin."

After being here two years, that word felt like a slap in the face, but I tried to brush it off. "My bad. I just thought—"

"Did _Ide_ send you?"

Taken aback, I laughed again. "Wow. No. Hideki doesn't _send_ me anywhere. He's mybitch."

Sayu's face twisted with a dark outrage. "Excuse me? I'm sorry, you talk so much like a man, sometimes it's very distracting."

"Sayu," I sighed at last, "come on. I just dropped by to have lunch with you."

She raised an eyebrow.

"I can go, if you want, but I'll be very disappointed."

Caramel eyes analyzed me, unblinking, like I must be trying to trick her, and I didn't understand that either. The last time I'd seen her, having a few drinks with us after work, we'd gotten along well, I'd thought, teasing our guys and singing karaoke duets.

"Don't make me eat all this sushi by myself," I pleaded.

At last she muttered, "Whatever," and waved her hand for me to come along.

Smiling again, I hopped out of my car, lugging the bags of sushi with me as I followed her across the road to her house, and for the first time, I noticed the backpack on her shoulders and the books under her arm.

"Did you just come from school?" I wondered as she opened the door.

"It's Sunday," she informed me, stiffly. "I was studying with a friend."

"That's nice. Did you—"

"Anyway, I don't go to _school_, I go to _university._ There's a difference."

"Right, yeah. I know. My Japanese is bad."

Last time, she'd been nothing but polite about it, coaching me on my grammar and teaching me cute phrases to say to Hideki. Today, she snorted, "Make sure you take your ugly boots off."

Kicking my boots into the genkan, I scanned the livingroom, just as quaint and understated as the neighborhood. "Pretty house."

"Mom!" Sayu called. "I'm home!" And then added, stiffly, "The cops are here!"

In a frantic patter of feet, Mrs. Yagami appeared from around the corner, looking wide-eyed and worried, but she stopped hard when she saw me, blinking in confusion.

She looked like the typical, little, Japanese lady to me, but knowing she'd been married to the late, great Deputy Director Soichiro Yagami filled me with a sense of deep admiration and respect. I wished Sayu hadn't introduced me that way.

"Hello, ma'am," I greeted, awkwardly, barely remembering to bow "It's…not official. I'm just…here to chat with Sayu-kun." That was stupid; just the thing I'd always said back in LA when I visited a suspect.

Accordingly, Mrs. Yagami's forehead arched with alarm.

"No… I mean…" I muddled through my keigo. "I'm only here to conduct a friendly visit with Sayu-kun. If you'll have me."

"Sayu_-san_," Sayu muttered under her breath. "How long have you been in this country?"

Not long enough, apparently. For the first time in two years, I regretted not studying more of the language before I came over. Damn, it was hard, even here, surrounded by it every day, and it didn't help that Hideki and a lot of the others indulged me by speaking English. They probably just didn't want to hear me slaughtering their native tongue.

Mrs. Yagami looked all the more confused, but she finally admitted, "I'm not sure I understand, Miss…?"

"Komagata," I told her, automatically offering my hand. "Kei Komagata. Please pardon my intrusion, I just wanted to check on Sayu… Sayu-_san._"

Still, she didn't seem to understand, and I thought frantically for a way to dispel the worry lines from her brow.

"As a friend," I expanded. "Since she's been going through so much with Matsuda—"

"Let's eat!" Sayu half-shouted suddenly, and tore the sushi from my hands. "Mom, Komagata-san is just an acquaintance. That's all. We're just having lunch, and then she's leaving. Please don't worry about it." She grabbed my arm to pull me toward the kitchen, and even though she was short and frail, I let her. "I'm sure you're tired from work—I'll start dinner as soon as she's gone." Flashing her mother a gentle smile, she thrust me into the kitchen.

Eyes flashing, she hissed, "Don't talk about Touta to my mother."

I stared at her, flustered. "Doesn't she know what happened?" I didn't have to ask, though; the way Mrs. Yagami acted, she had no idea Sayu was going through anything.

"Just eat and leave," Sayu commanded, unloading sushi platters out onto the table. "This is the last thing I need."

"Why would you not tell her your boyfriend got—?"

"Because she doesn't want us dating at all. Now eat." She glared ferociously at the takeout boxes, and then suddenly whipped around to throw open a draw and tossed a fork down in front of me.

Laughing, I dropped into my seat. "You know I'm Japanese, right?"

"You're an American," she corrected. "Your accent is terrible." And then she mimicked me, _"Konichiwa, Oneechan," _and laughed, mockingly.

I studied her. I'd always thought she was a cute girl—small and feminine—and I'd definitely seen her be sweet to Matsuda. Even the night we went out, he'd gotten a little sloshed, and she'd turned almost maternal, piling affection on him, insisting he drink water. Despite the age difference between them, I'd seen that she had a better handle on personal responsibility, but she didn't seem to mind looking after him.

In that, we'd found solidarity, since Hideki was much the same. A grown up idiot who'd always lie and tell you he was tired, even in the peak of emotional distress.

Outside of that, Sayu had always been carefully polite to anyone older than her, using her titles and honorifics, deferring to their opinions even if I could tell she disagreed.

I doubted the five years I had on her accounted for her bad manners today. In the past, I'd gotten the feeling she thought I had a crush on Matsuda, and that was just the craziest damn thing. Sure, he was cute, but he didn't have the ruggedness or the spirit I liked; I thought about telling her that her goofy boyfriend was way too young and immature for me, but that seemed uncalled for, seeing how she'd gone so long without seeing him. She must be worried sick.

That, though, didn't excuse how gallingly hostile she was acting.

Spreading my hands and laughing too, I decided to cut the bullshit. "Hey, kid, I'm just trying to be nice. I don't know all the traditions and customs here, but where I come from, when somebody swings by with _sushi_, you say thank you, at least. And in America, it's not nice to make fun of people's accents, or to make a guest feel unwelcome. So." I stood up. "I guess I'll go. Enjoy your fish. Or throw it away. I don't really care."

Sayu's gaze dropped in shame, and her face turned red.

I added, gentler, "The only reason I didn't call first was because I don't have your number. Sorry, I bothered you, though."

She glanced up at me. "Ide-san really didn't send you?"

"No. Why would he?"

"To ask me more questions."

"Hideki knows more than you and me combined at this point. Asking you questions probably won't help."

I wasn't ready for the sharp, knowing look she gave me. "You know where Touta is, don't you?"

Oops.

I paused just long enough for her to get frustrated all over again. "Why am I the only one in the world who's not allowed to know where Touta is?"

"I don't know where he is. Not exactly."

"Ide-san does, though, right?"

"Yeah, they're together."

Despair darkening her eyes, she tugged ferociously on her necklace, and I remembered what I'd come here for.

"Can we just eat?" I asked. "I'm really hungry."

Slowly, she nodded and sat down, taking up her chopsticks in a shaking hand.

Eating with the fork was awkward, because scooping up huge bites of sashimi while she picked delicately at her rice really did make me feel like an idiot gaijin. After the way she'd all but thrown the fork at me, I wasn't about to ask for chopsticks and risk making a fool of myself with them.

"I'm sorry, Komagata," she said, suddenly. "I'm just…frustrated with the police right now."

"Yeah?" I glanced up from my dish. "How come?"

Sayu looked like the question puzzled her. "You don't know?"

"Well, Hideki told me you haven't been able to see Matsuda, and that they haven't been able to give you much information about what happened to him."

Snorting, she frowned. "No, they haven't told me anything at all, other than he's alive. But it's more than that." With that, she slammed her chopsticks back down, loudly, and explained, in a low voice, what she'd seen at the hospital the night they recovered him.

Forkful of rice poised halfway to my mouth I listened, and then asked, "Who took him? Not the chief?"

Grumpily, she confirmed Hideki and Aizawa had been there, but the three escorts were men she didn't know. The one sounded suspiciously like Director Boko himself.

_This must be really big if it goes all the way to the top._

"That's weird," I murmured, mostly out of commiseration.

Sayu whispered, "It looked like he was in trouble." Tears filled her eyes, but she bit her lip, holding them back. "He was hurt, and they barely let me touch him."

Very weird, treating an injured warrant officer like a criminal.

Matsuda had a way of doing whatever he wanted, so it wasn't impossible for him to have gotten himself in trouble, but he was definitely a good cop—a good guy—and I couldn't imagine him doing something bad enough to get in that much trouble.

"I just want to know where he is," she explained in a tight voice. "I just want to know he's okay. I want to talk to him. But nobody will let me. I still don't even know if he was kidnapped_,_ or what!"

"He was," I told her, automatically.

Sayu jerked hard and stared up at me with round eyes.

"I don't know why, or by whom, but Hideki told me Matsuda confirmed he was taken away from here at gunpoint."

Her face paled.

"He's okay, though." I got out my phone to find my text thread from a few days ago, trying not to smile at all of Hideki's ridiculous spelling errors. "Sarge is okay. Has some cuts and bruises, but he'll be all right. A little shaken up. He's safe though. Standby while we figure out the rest." I laid my phone down. "That's all Hideki's been able to tell me so far. I saw him today; I guess he, Matsuda, and the chief are all together—"

"Where?"

I shook my head. "He just said they have to stay with him."

Sayu toyed with her necklace, thinking furiously. "I'm not sure the NPA has the right to do this."

"That depends." I sat back in my chair, folding my arms. "Matsuda probably agreed to go along with them."

I'd said it to ease some of her fears, but the way her lips quirked and her nose wrinkled, that clearly didn't satisfy her. "If he agreed to go, he'd be allowed to call me, wouldn't he? That is, if he's being debriefed, or held in protective custody, or something like that, it's not like they'd keep him from contacting me."

"No, the chief wouldn't put you guys through that."

"Aizawa-san hasn't been answering my calls," she sniffed.

I considered telling her it sounded like Director Boko had gotten involved with the situation, and therefore it might not be Chief's choice to leave her out of the loop, but that would only serve to upset her more.

"He will. I'm sure. Just as soon as he can."

Sayu's eyes narrowed. "Even if Touta's been arrested for doing something wrong, _someone_ should let me know what's going on."

"You're not his next of kin," I pointed out.

"I called his mother; she didn't even know he'd been found." She slammed back in her chair and started fixing her ponytail, a decidedly agitated snarl framing her mouth.

That really didn't make any sense. In terms of protocol, I could see why Sayu might be left out, but to neglect to inform a victim's mother that he was safe, letting her go on, worried and ignorant, that wasn't right.

In a little bit, when Sayu had stopped playing with her hair and resumed eating, I assured her, "I don't think Matsuda is in trouble, Sayu. Chief Aizawa can be a little overbearing…" That was putting it mildly. "I'm guessing it's a matter of security."

Being part of the Kira task force had made big mouth Matsu privy to some pretty sensitive information, and I could see Aizawa blocking him from contacting anyone simply to ensure nothing leaked.

Hideki had vaguely explained that Matsuda had been questioned by someone; in a criminal case, I generally took that to mean intimidated, if not physically forced, into disclosing information. Assuming I was right, he might be really distraught, and therefore all the more likely to go blurting things out.

The only information I could think of, though, so important that it might prompt Aizawa to start stripping away Matsuda's rights, would be related to the death note.

"His security?" Sayu wanted to know.

"Possibly."

"Or are you talking about top-secret information?"

"Could be."

"So, something to do with Kira?"

"I wouldn't want to jump to that conclusion," I confessed.

"But what you're saying is, it could have to do with the notebook."

"Notebook?" Taken aback, I stared at her and I faltered, wondering if I could have heard wrong simply because I'd been thinking about the notebook. "Um. No. What? What notebook?"

Pausing a moment to gauge my reaction, Sayu nodded to herself. "You know. Aizawa told me everyone who worked on the Reaper case knew."

All the more reason he'd kill me for mentioning it.

"Why would the chief tell _you_ about any of that?"

"You know that, too."

"No," I said truthfully. "I really don't."

"You know that Matsuda shot Kira though, right?"

"Sure." I sat back in my seat. "That's probably why any of this is happening."

A look of triumph entered her eyes, and I realized I'd underestimated how sharp she was. Telling her anything had been a mistake.

"So," she said, lowly. "It all has to do with Kira. _Still_."

"I don't know that for sure," I insisted, weakly.

Nodding, she went back to eating, taking her time and swallowing several bites before saying in a conversational tone, "You were on the team looking for Touta, weren't you?"

"Yeah," I agreed, cautiously. "But there wasn't any evidence to follow."

Sayu simply nodded again, like she expected that. "It's weird, then, don't you think? That your own boyfriend won't tell you anything more about a case you're assigned to. Unless you're just pretending not to know anything else." She shot another intent look from beneath her lashes.

"I'm really not. I told you everything I know."

"So if they won't tell you, it must be really top-secret; if they won't even let me talk to him, maybe they're just nervous about what _he'll_ tell _me_." She giggled to herself. "Touta's terrible with secrets."

"Yeah." I tried to smile. "I've noticed."

Again, the sharpness in her eyes as she locked gazes with me caught me completely off guard. "Out of the whole taskforce, he's the only one _I _would kidnap if I wanted information about Kira and the notebook. You're being left out because you don't know everything about the circumstances. It all makes sense."

Oh. Oh, shit.

Stupidly, I sat there holding my dumb ass fork. I'd only come because I felt bad for her, and I wanted to tell her what little I could to comfort her. I hadn't expected her to use that to extract a bunch of classified information.

"So it all makes sense," I agreed, somewhat shakily. "So what? There's nothing you or I can do with that information."

Sayu gazed out the window, deciding that for herself.

"Sayu," I said, more urgently. "You just have to sit tight."

"Standby," she intoned in a quiet but contemptuous voice, "while we figure the rest out."

"You don't have a choice. Wherever Matsuda is, he's with Ide and Aizawa—the two most stubborn guys I know—they'll get him back to you as soon as they can."

Still, she simply stared out the window.

I swallowed hard. If the chief found out I'd leaked so much sensitive information to her, there'd be hell to pay. Maybe I should tell Hideki before things got out of hand.

No, no. She was smart, but she was only a civilian—a little girl—she couldn't really use the information she'd gotten from me. It was all hypothetical and guesswork anyway.

"We don't know anything," I reminded her, forcefully. "If you're smart, you'll keep all this to yourself."

Again, she turned to me, and smiled sweetly. "Don't worry, Oneesan, I won't tell on you."

* * *

**Matsuda**

* * *

When I woke up, I lay in my bed, buried in blankets, but shivering. Breathing hurt and my whole head ached. Automatically, I tried to think about whether or not I had something stronger than Tylenol in the house.

I must have slept all day. It had gotten dark outside, and blinding light from down the hall cascaded through the open door, stinging my eyes. I heard voices.

"Boko can go to hell," Aizawa was saying—shouting. "He thinks he's some kind of super soldier now, but he's _not_. He's Matsuda_._"

In a loud voice, Ide countered, "If you go against the director's orders, we could lose _everything_, Shuichi. Twenty years of—"

"Since when is your job that important to you? Matsuda could _die_!"

"He's obsessed with his directive. What do you think will happen if we don't help him get the fucking notebook?"

Usually, he agreed with whatever the boss had to say, even if he didn't really believe it was the right thing to do, and especially when it came to me, I'd noticed, Ide had a way of shrugging and saying, "he knows best, Matsuda," or, "just do what the chief tells you, Matsuda." This was the first time I'd ever heard them fight about me.

When Aizawa didn't answer, Ide finished for him, "He _will _die if he goes after the notebook alone! Maybe the only thing we can do is back him up!"

"I just can't believe that's your solution! We can't stop him, so let's go with him to our deaths—"

"I'm being _logical_!" Ide screamed. "You're the one letting feelings get in the way!"

"Great! So I've got two emotionless bastards on my side. One was bad enough—"

"I'm not about to let you make a stupid mistake over your out-of-control emotions!"

_They care too much._

_ Get the notebook._

First things, first. I had to get the bleeding to stop and find a way to close the wound in my mouth, find something to take for the terrible pain.

Despite my pounding head and burning gums, despite my stinging feet and hands, despite the feeling of getting stabbed in the side over and over, I climbed out of bed and staggered for the door, pausing to lean hard against the wall before continuing down the hall, where I found them in the living room, poised to tear each other apart.

_I never wanted to see them fight like this…_ I thought, but that, too, was merely a memory, a fact.

They shut up when they saw me, watching me round the breakfast bar into the kitchen. Yanking crusty gauze from my mouth and dropping it routinely in the trash, I started digging through my junk drawer. The taste of blood made me feel sick.

"What are you looking for?" Aizawa wanted to know.

"Superglue," I said, through swollen lips.

"We put hemostat on it," Ide informed me. "And we have more if you need it."

I touched my tongue to my gums, finding the hard, uneven line of a scab where the gaping hole should be.

"You still should see a doctor about it," Aizawa decided. "It might not be too late to fix it."

"I don't care about fixing it," I murmured.

Immediately, he exploded again. "Nobody cares! Nobody cares what you care about, or what you want, or what you think you have time for! In case you missed what's happening, your mind is fucked!"

"Shuichi," Ide tried to interrupt, like he usually did when Aizawa lost it. "If he—"

"Don't start with me!" Aizawa glared ferociously at him, and his booming voice made my head pound, reminding me that I needed something for the pain. "You're wrong, Ide! That's all there is to it!"

Sighing and squinting in the harsh lights, I turned to him, one hand braced against the counter. "Why are you so angry?"

"Because, Matsuda!" he yelled after a moment of shock. "You ripped out one of your teeth! You didn't have to do that!"

"A dental appointment would have taken forever."

"That's not the point! You're hell bent to destroy yourself over the notebook." He shoved Ide, harshly. "And this asshole doesn't even seem to see a problem with that."

Ide stumbled back and straightened up, bunching his fists like he wanted to throw himself at Aizawa. "For the last time! I _do_! I'm just saying—"

"To hell with what you're saying! It's insane! All of this is insane! Both of you are acting insane!"

Ide opened his mouth to shout something back at him, but got interrupted by a firm knock at the door, and we all paused to turn and stare that direction.

"Neighbors," I husked. "You guys are making a ton of noise."

"Don't talk to me about noise!" Aizawa raged. "Try getting woken up at six in the morning by you, screaming bloody murder!"

"Sorry I woke you up," I said.

"That isn't the point, Matsuda! You—"

The knocking echoed through my apartment again, more insistently.

"I'll get it," Ide announced, dourly, and marched to the door.

* * *

**Ide**

While I went to answer the door, Aizawa resumed yelling, this time at Matsuda, even though I didn't see what damn good it would do.

Then again, I didn't see that it did any damn good to scream at me either. All day, I'd sat at the sick bed of my unconscious friend, cleaning blood off him and listening as he called for Sayu, hoping he'd wake up normal again. It had been a long time since I'd felt completely helpless, and I couldn't stand the thought of some smug medic rushing in here only to cart him off to the insane asylum. On the off-chance he woke up scared, I didn't want him to be alone. I didn't want them to put him somewhere I couldn't get to him.

Luckily, he'd made his wishes clear by saying he'd fight the medics off, so I'd talked Shuichi out of calling the ambulance. He'd agreed, grudgingly, but then he'd been angry at me all day. As much as I hated to fight, I could only take so much, and, as usual, he didn't understand.

He did get one thing right, though—this was absolutely insane. Letting Matsuda go after the notebook would be insane. The fact that he was in this condition was insane. Trying to decide what to do at all was making me insane. It seemed like I hadn't had a moment of peace and quiet since he came bolting out of the yellow box and dove into a helicopter, and I was about to rip my hair out.

So whoever turned out to be on the other side of that door had better have nothing but nice things to say to me.

With a sharp breath, I threw it open, finding Mogi's thick frame blocking my view of the hall, dripping rain and heaving from running upstairs.

"Mogi," I blurted out, and behind me, Aizawa finally stopped screaming.

Looking uncommonly outraged, Mogi charged in, pushed past me, and spun in a half circle to scowl at us each in turn before he pointed at Matsuda. "You."

"Hey, Mochi," Matsu greeted listlessly, and he looked ready to pass out again, eyes dull with pain.

Mogi didn't seem to notice.

"Hey, Mochi," he echoed, not loudly, but his voice shuddered. "How can you _hey Mochi _me after what you've done?"

Matsuda watched him without much response. Being so pale and feeble-looking, it seemed like Mogi could knock him over with a feather, but I remembered what he'd done to Hisumi and automatically laid a hand on Mogi's arm.

"Easy, big guy," I soothed.

Rudely, Mogi jerked away, furious gaze still on Matsuda.

Aizawa started, "Mogi—"

Spitting, Mogi ripped through his words, "You're no better, Aizawa, using him against me."

Aizawa's eyes popped. "You think I tricked you?"

"Don't lie to me," Mogi warned, voice still trembling with quiet fury, and I'd never seen him so angry. He was like a hungry bear, up on hind legs, ready to strike, and if that wasn't just the last damn thing we needed. "Sending _Matsuda._ You knew I trusted him."

Matsuda sagged against the breakfast bar, rubbing his head with a shaking hand, but I heard Aizawa's anger mounting in his voice and knew he must be nearly out of patience. "You've got to be kidding."

"Shuichi," I counseled, even though he'd been irascible and inconsolable all day. "Just—"

Like I hadn't spoke, he snarled, "Why would I intentionally send Matsuda to steal the deathnote?"

"You're chief of the NPA now," Mogi accused. "I have no idea what your motives are."

"You've spent too much time with L if you think that's even possible. He specifically requested to talk with Matsuda alone!"

"Apparently, he didn't trust you."

"Hey," I tried to interrupt. "Let's not lose our cool, boys—"

Once more, Shuichi cut across me with ease. "You really think I planned this whole abduction scheme as a means to lure Near back to Japan?"

"At the moment," Mogi grated out, eyes glinting with distrust. "That's the way it looks."

"Okay." Aizawa laughed, bitterly, and then shouted, "Do you also think I personally kicked the shit out of Matsuda just so you'd buy my story? _Look_ at him! For fuck's sake, Mogi—"

"Did you?"

"No! I would never _use_ Matsuda—"

"You sent him in there wearing a wire—"

"I was trying to protect him! From L, and from—"

"Then you don't trust me—"

"You're not the one I distrust—"

"Hey!" I said, louder. "That's enough! We're all on the same side here!"

They continued to glare at each other, and I couldn't remember seeing them fight before. Ever since the beginning, they'd been similar. Steady and reliable. Yes, Aizawa had a way of losing his temper or getting a little too gung-ho any time his passion took over, and Mogi was careful to a fault, rarely saying what he truly thought, unprompted, but when it came to having someone on your side who was going to dig in, work hard, and never back down, you couldn't ask for anyone better than the two of them.

Seeing them at each other's throats was almost more than I could take. If they went to blows, I wouldn't be able to stop them, I'd just be standing on the sidelines, like a child, ineffectively screaming for them to cut it out.

"Guys…" I eased toward the center of the room, hands raised. My eyes darted to the guns Shuichi and I had left on the coffee table, and then to Mogi's belt, but it didn't look like he was packing anything. "Let's just talk about this."

"There's nothing to talk about," Aizawa growled, enraged glare on Mogi. "After everything the four of us have been through, how could any of you possibly think I'd use Matsuda—"

"No, no," I insisted, and looked earnestly at Mogi. "It's all a misunderstanding. We—"

Sharply, he said, "Save your smooth talk."

"I'm just trying to tell you, that isn't what happened."

Finally, he tore his eyes off Aizawa to glare at me. "You'd say that even if he did betray me. No one can trust a word that comes out of your mouth."

My breath hitched.

Aizawa roared, "Don't you fucking talk to him like that!" He even charged forward a few steps, sticking a warning finger in Mogi's face. "You don't have any right to barge in here and start slinging accusations! You've got some balls to—"

"Geez," Matsuda sighed, loudly, and suddenly went around to flop down on his couch. He switched on the TV, like they weren't about to go to blows in his living room, and we all watched him flip through the channels until he finally found some dumb anime and left it there.

Normally, he'd throw himself in the middle of the fight, take all the blame on himself, and beg us not to fight. His lack of interest stunned Aizawa and Mogi enough to shut them up, and I took the awkward silence as an opportunity to say, "We didn't do any of this on purpose, Mogi. I don't even think we could have preventedit. I've thought about it and thought about it, but if we could, I just don't see how."

He frowned at me, eyes dark, and I couldn't deny that, no matter what Shuichi did, I would cover for him—my partner—I didn't dare let myself be offended for losing a faith I doubted I'd ever had in the first place. Earnestly, I added, "We need your help."

"I can't help," he grumbled, and then went to stand over the couch, scowling down at Matsuda. This time, I detected hurt in his gaze. "Do you have any idea what you've done?"

"I hit you," Matsuda announced, unapologetically.

"No," Mogi snarled, rubbing the back of his head. "Matsuda. My career with Near is over unless I can get the notebook back!"

But Matsuda only gave him a dismissive shrug. "Well, I didn't mean for any of this to happen either."

Mogi stared incredulously at him, mouth falling open, and then looked back at us, and I completely understood. Normally, Matsuda would be kao-taoing before him, begging forgiveness, for an infraction even slightly that severe.

"I guess we'd better fill you in on some things," I said.

Tensions ran high as the three of us took our seats. Matsuda stayed stretched out on the couch, and I didn't have the heart to so much as nudge him, so Aizawa and I perched on the edge, much too close together for my tastes at the moment.

Meanwhile, the way Mogi sat down in the armchair, fists clenched on his knees, and scowled at us, it was clear he really did believe we'd done him a bad turn on purpose.

Since the day I'd met him, he'd been logical to a fault, and much too good to roll around in the dirt with the rest of the guys, taking any negative remarks with a grain of salt, way too busy being the perfect investigator to care what anyone else said. It really annoyed me in my twenties, but I'd figured out that Mogi Kanzo earned what he had by honestly being the best. He was always right.

I couldn't understand why he'd jump to an unfounded, illogical conclusion, or what would shake his faith in Aizawa; everyone knew Shuichi didn't have a deceptive bone in his body, that his honor could never be compromised. Even if he didn't give a shit about Matsuda, he'd never be able to play him like a chess piece.

Working with L, infamous for his dirty tactics, must have planted seeds of suspicion in his mind. Or maybe the whole fiasco with covering up the death note in the first place had stretched all our trust so thin that his simply couldn't hold up anymore.

I got it if he didn't completely trust me at all times, but to attack Aizawa of all people was absolutely ridiculous. It was thanks to Aizawa Mogi even had his job with Near in the first place; even if it wasn't, he'd always been tight with him. From the day the little snot walked into the squad room, a pretentious rookie with good academy marks, Aizawa had been impressed with him. He'd taken him under his wing, coached him, and recommended him for promotions. If nothing else, he owed him enough respect to grant him the benefit of the doubt.

For the longest time, it had felt like we couldn't trust anyone but each other, and now, with Matsuda being used against us by some unknown foe and the director himself, it seemed even that trust was being picked apart.

I cursed the day I heard about Kira.

Aizawa began explaining everything that had gone wrong lately, starting with the night Matsuda first disappeared, and then walking Mogi through every nightmarish second that had followed, all the way up to this morning, when dumb ass had yanked his molar. He glossed over that part, some, and I didn't blame him. Finding Matsuda hurt like that, and coming to realize he'd done it to himself, had been disturbing.

Last night, after Matsuda had gone to bed, the two of us had been able to encourage each other and share confidence. Shuichi insisted that, as long as we could keep the situation under control, we'd find the solution.

This morning, we'd learned there was no controlling Matsuda. Shuichi might take longer to accept that than I had, and he'd be twice as devastated once he did.

By the time Aizawa was saying, "Boko insists we have his support," I was on my fourth cigarette, and Mogi's eyes were threatening to fall from their sockets. "Whatever that's worth. Personally, I'd rather not go after the notebook at all. Even if I did, I'd probably lose my badge by the time I was done with the sadistic fuckers behind all this."

Mogi nodded, studying Matsuda, who hadn't said a word the whole time. His half-lidded eyes stayed fixed on the television, where some cartoon girl with giant tits fought monsters. "I'm sorry," Mogi said finally. "I shouldn't have accused you of conspiring against me, Chief."

With a sigh, Aizawa raked his fingers across his goatee. "Everyone's just on edge." He shot me an apologetic look from the corner of his eye.

Seeing that he'd still jumped down Mogi's throat for calling me a liar, like he normally would, I couldn't be too mad at him. I jerked my head in acknowledgment.

Satisfied, he resumed, "Recovering the notebook is important. Given the state of things, though, I think it would be best if you guys handled it."

"Yes," Mogi agreed. "Unfortunately, I'm the only help from Near you're going to get."

I nearly inhaled my cigarette. "What? He's not going to go after the death note in person?"

Mogi lowered his eyes. "I'd imagine he'll be engaged with it eventually, but, for now, he seems to think the NPA should be able to handle it."

"We can," Aizawa agreed, "but it's a time sensitive matter. Doesn't he care?"

Passing a furtive glance at Matsuda, Mogi said, "Near believes Matsuda has the answers we need. It's just a matter of recovering his memories."

Groaning, I sank back in the couch, ignoring the feeling of Matsuda's knees digging into the base of my spine. "How are we supposed to do that?"

"I can't believe this!" Aizawa exploded. "I can't believe everyoneexpects _Matsuda_ to get the notebook back on his own!"

Quickly, Mogi said, "Since there's no physical evidence, Matsuda's experience is all we…" He broke off suddenly to ask, "Where's the GPS?"

Aizawa wrinkled his nose. "In the kitchen floating in a glass of milk."

Delicately—very delicately—I told him, "We need that device more than Matsuda needs one of his molars."

But from the deep gash of a frown that crossed Shuichi's face, I knew he didn't agree. "Depending on what you think we can get from it."

"It's probably dead anyway," I reminded him, gently.

He turned on me, snarling, "It wouldn't be dead if you hadn't gotten in my way."

"You could have called the ambulance." I drew a deep breath. "But like I said, they weren't going to perform surgery on an unconscious patient, and Matsuda made it clear he didn't care about going to see the dentist. It's not my fault it died, and at least if it can help us it'll be worth something."

Mimicking my careful tone, Mogi added, "We might be able to see where it's been."

At once, Aizawa's expression turned thoughtful, resigned, regretful.

Finally, Matsuda mumbled, "What good will that do?"

"Still one step behind, huh, kiddo?" Aizawa said, softly though.

Wincing at the sight of his swollen face, I looked down at him. "If we can see where it's been, we might be able to find out where they had you detained."

"Duh," Matsuda snorted. "But don't you think that's probably the place I woke up in?"

"Maybe," Aizawa agreed, getting up to pace. "But maybe not. Either way, having a location to search gives us a chance to get our hands on hard evidence. Besides." He drew a long pause, studying Matsuda with a pained look on his face.

Matsuda propped up on his elbows to meet his gaze. "I hate how long it takes you to talk."

"I'm glad you're still capable of hating something," Aizawa told him, absently, and then rubbed the bridge of his nose, exhibiting familiar anxiety. "If you go back to the place where they held you, it might jog your memory."

That sounded bad already. He'd forgotten so much, and when I'd listened to his chat with Near, there'd been a sense of relief to know Matsuda didn't remember all the pain he'd endured. If his mind blocked it out, having it come back to him could even be dangerous.

"Huh." Matsuda studied the ceiling, thoughtfully, and we studied him, looking for any sign of trepidation or excitement, but he just said in an apathetic voice. "Yeah, I'll bet you're right."


	12. Chapter 12

**Aizawa**

* * *

Under a golden sun, still hanging somewhat low in the east, Ide, Matsuda, and I stood around my car, watching the building from almost a kilometer away, but despite it being large, like a factory, I saw no sign of activity, the massive parking lot was empty, and the long road leading to it looked unused, overgrown with weeds and dotted with potholes.

Beside me, Ide sucked up the last of his coffee until the ice gurgled, and then pulled the straw out to lick some whipped cream from its tip. Since he'd started dating Kei, some fancy, iced, vanilla heart attack in a cup was all he'd drink. "You're too old to drink junk like that," I muttered to him. "You're gonna get diabetes."

Regardless, he picked a donut with sprinkles from the box on my hood. "What about the place?"

Movement through the binoculars. My body jerked, but it was just a bird flitting across the empty lot. "I don't know yet."

Ide reviewed his phone again, checking our location. Getting the GPS device out of its enamel case had been a morbid task, left mostly to Mogi. There hadn't been fingerprints to find—we hadn't expected luck like that—but we'd been able to plug it into Matsuda's laptop and see every location it had been in the last week, including this place.

I kept telling myself it wasn't a big deal for Matsuda to go the rest of his life without his tooth—he could get a false one after this was over—and getting to the GPS took precedence over that anyway, but I couldn't ignore my responsibility in what had happened.

_He was so adamant about the GPS, I should have known he'd try something like this. I should have stopped him._

"This is it," Ide assured me.

"I know this is it," I grunted. "I want to make sure it's safe to move in."

Stepping up to stand flush with me, he shielded his eyes with his hand to stare at the building. Quietly, he said, "We've been standing out here a long time, Shuichi. Maybe we should just call for back up."

There was no telling what might be inside a place like this. We could encounter an entire army of enemies, and yet, I had to admit, this case was so sensitive and personal to me, I'd rather not have a team of outsiders get involved.

Ide studied my face next, but, for once, he misunderstood my expression. "I understand if you're worried about the notebook… But at this point, what choice do we have?"

"We don't need back up," I grumbled.

"Right. We've got our super soldier," he said, in a dissatisfied tone, and then pulled himself up to sit on the hood and eat another donut, and I tried not to be annoyed with him. He'd never understood the concept of slow and steady wins the race, and I knew he was just impatient.

Finally, I lowered my binoculars to take a long look at Matsuda, standing on the opposite side of the hood, as if he wasn't one of us anymore. For once, he held perfectly still, hair rustling in the wind, eyes focused unflinchingly on the building in the distance, but for all the determination and severity that had emerged in him out of all this, he looked rough, face swollen, eyes glassy.

Nevertheless, he'd beaten me out of bed this morning, getting dressed, talking about his directive, and by all appearances, if we didn't tag along, he'd do this on his own. I knew Ide was right in thinking we couldn't let him do that, and yet, suggesting we let Matsuda go ahead with his directive didn't seem any different from the way everyone else had been using the kid lately.

Even if we could force him to go to the hospital, I doubted he'd stay there. This morning, as he'd pulled into the same black suit he'd worn to Soichiro and Light's funerals, he'd muttered, a bit wryly, _"I guess I'm mourning for myself this time,"_ so he did have some understanding of how jacked up this situation was, but my concerns hadn't fazed him. Neither Ide nor Mogi had done much in the way of backing me up.

"Matsuda," I called to him. "I know your mouth hurts, but you should try to eat."

He didn't so much as glance at me. If I couldn't even convince him to eat, I had serious doubts about my ability to control any of his actions.

I still just couldn't believe this was happening. Even after the terrible things he'd said about Sayu the other night, I'd genuinely hoped I'd wake up to find him back to normal in the morning, that somehow the programming might wear off, or that Matsuda's emotions were strong enough to overcome it.

Instead, I'd woken to find him unconscious in the bathroom, covered in blood, a scarlet-stained tooth still pinched between the pliers beside his hand.

That image would never leave my mind, and, more than anything else he'd done or said so far, it showed me that Matsuda as I knew him really was gone.

_I have to get him back._

As long as he was like this, my honor as chief felt entirely lost—I didn't know how I could show my face in my department again, I didn't even know how I could face my family, much less his.

My only choice was to fight until I knew for sure nothing could be done, and then…

Harakiri was out of the question—even Ide wouldn't help me go through with that—but if for some reason I really couldn't get Matsuda back…

"All right," I decided at last, chasing the last of the black thoughts from my head. "Let's move in."

Matsuda climbed into the passenger's seat without a word, but Ide jumped off the hood to shoulder against me, asking softly, "Whatever we find in here… Do you think you can handle it?"

I'd been asking myself that very thing, but I still said, "Of course. That's why I'm the boss," and then got back in the car.

I blazed down the dusty road leading to the plant, and parked haphazardly just outside the front entrance. Ide and Matsuda checked their guns and stuffed them into their holsters, but I held mine tightly in my hand, honestly scared of what I'd find inside, and even more afraid of what I wouldn't find, where that would leave me.

Both glass doors were locked up tight, the room beyond them perfectly dark, but we had no problem breaking in, and then we found ourselves in an austere lobby, barely lit by the sun outside. Everything looked like it had been white once, turned gray now by age and layers of dust; I didn't see as much as a single chair to sit on, but a large reception station blocked off the far wall, where an ominous, blank door waited.

"Not much sign of anything being disturbed," Ide whispered, drifting around the room.

I took a look at Matsuda's impassive face. "Any of this seem familiar so far?"

"I remember the outside," he explained, and his loud voice echoed in the blank room. "This is definitely the place where I woke up. But I was unconscious when they brought me here." And then he strode to the door on the far side, stood pondering it a second, while we gathered on either side of him.

Ajar by several centimeters, a draft filled with the odd scents of mold and dust blew from that direction, but I saw nothing beyond except an even blacker darkness.

"Wait a minute, Matsu," I said, as he reached to throw it open. "I'll go first."

He shook his head. "No. You'll hesitate. I won't."

To the tone of screeching hinges, he wrenched it open, but it looked like it took all his strength, and I heard him wincing, and remembered, angrily, his bruised ribs.

Past the door, a long hallway awaited us, equally blank as the lobby, but twice as dark, without windows, and there was nothing at the end except another hall, splitting off in both directions.

Though Matsuda would have normally stood to the side, whimpering about how creepy the place was, ducking behind me to hide, his new resolve overrode that too, and he hardly seemed to think about it as he marched forward.

I grabbed his arm, snarling, "Hey, I don't care how disturbed you are. I am still your chief, and you don't tell me _no_." Roughly, I shoved him aside and took the first step.

Matsuda didn't appear bothered, but all the same, Ide patted him on the shoulder, murmuring, "stay close, Matsu," and then he produced a flashlight, revealing more unnerving white.

"Oh, ugh," he said under his breath. "Okay… Worse than I expected." He hesitated to turn up the collar of his jacket and take a longing look over his shoulder, back toward the sun.

"You've got the rear," I told him.

"The rear?" he gasped.

I rolled my eyes. He'd always hated places like this, but I didn't have time to be sensitive. "Unless you want the lead."

"No," he muttered. "That's even worse."

"I don't mind going first," Matsuda chirped.

I threw my hands up. "Look, everyone just stay close. We don't want to get separated in a place like this."

With that, I eased forward, eyes darting for any signs of danger. Angular and blank, the walls stretched away into the darkness, where I didn't know what to expect to come crawling out of the shadows, and that unknown haunted me. For the first time in years, I didn't know whether we'd find a drug super lab, a human trafficking lair, or something even more heinous and bizarre. Whatever it was, though, my duty was to lead the way and look after my men, a responsibility I'd taken on—almost unconsciously—after Deputy Director Yagami died.

I'd never planned on filling his role; frankly, it had never crossed my mind that I might need to or that I could. But it must have crossed his.

Over the short years we worked the Kira case together, even after Light took over as L, I'd noticed Soichiro instructing me, subtly, in the ways of leadership, and I'd recognized that he did expect me, at some point, to be in some position of command.

Shortly before he died, he'd taken me aside, and said, without any ado, _"My son is very capable."_

I hadn't understood at the time. Despite his pride in Light, he hadn't been the type to brag. Politely, I'd agreed, _"He'll make an excellent commander, sir."_

_ "Yes, but he's young."_

Even so, Light had earned a promotion after only a few years, and I'd assumed he was going to climb fast, likely take on the role of chief in his thirties, the way his father had, and just keep climbing from there.

But the chief had faced me._ "If something should happen…I expect you to step up, Aizawa. They'll need you."_

I'd accepted that, though he'd never been clear. He'd never told me he'd spoken to anyone about my becoming chief or so much as mentioned that he had it in mind for me. At the time, I'd assumed he meant the task force, specifically, and I'd thought that was true, because we were a team of renegades in our own right, pursuing justice despite what the NPA did, working tirelessly on the case even after the world turned against us.

Any more, we'd gotten so far from all of that, I hardly knew who we were. Helping to catch Kira hadn't brought us any glory or honor, and in fact it seemed like a choice each of us would pay for, in his own way, forever.

Struggling to regain my focus, I looked around at the other two. Matsuda clipped a pace or two ahead of me, so I must be walking too slow for him. Hideki had wound up walking close enough to brush my shoulder from time to time, and he looked troubled. I wasn't used to either of them being so quiet.

They, in particular, had never doubted me as a leader. After Soichiro died, Mogi had asked, in private, if I felt up to fulfilling the deputy director's role on the task force, but Hideki and Matsuda had turned, naturally, to me, as a second-in-command to L. I'd been accustomed enough to having a command and ordering them around anyway that I'd hardly thought about it either.

Back then, I never could have fathomed the way everything would turn out, how the NPA would decay and corrupt over time, turning us from renegades to vagabonds.

Soichiro hired Commissioner Oshima in person, not guessing at the fact that he was a Kira fanatic, not dreaming, even for one second, that that man would detain and interrogate me for details about the case, certainly not knowing he'd betray us and use a fellow officer to gain our trust and exploit our weaknesses.

To this day, thinking about Karisa Yoko, how she'd been used by Oshima, and the way she'd looked the night she took her life, tore through me like a cold blade. I'd let that happen. Just like I'd failed Chiba.

Glancing at Matsuda, prowling the shadows beside me, sliding his hand across the gritty concrete walls, searching for clues to a way to take back control of his own mind, it seemed my failures since then had only gotten worse.

_Like Sayu said. Soichiro Yagami would never have let _any_ of this happen._

I held my gun even tighter, forcing myself to focus on the present and the gloomy hallway.

At the end of the hall and around the corner, we found the cage of an old elevator, pried partway open.

"This thing looks like it's from the forties," Ide mused, rattling the steel lattice with his flashlight. "I don't trust it."

Nodding, I glanced around, locating the door to the stairs instead. "Up or down?"

"Down," Matsuda decided, stepping ahead of me again. Before I could stop him, he burst through the door. The sound of it slamming seemed to rumble through the whole building, and then he jaunted down the concrete steps, leaving us behind without a thought.

I started after him at once, but Ide lingered.

When I gave him a questioning look, he explained, "I keep thinking…this would an awful place to get trapped."

A chill sped down my spine. Getting trapped in this strange place would be like something out of a nightmare.

"We're not going to get trapped," I assured him, brusquely.

"I know…"

With that, he threw the door open.

Thundering after Matsuda, we made our way to the next floor down, where it was darker and colder than ever, and Matsuda crouched on the floor, breathing hard.

"You okay?" I asked, stepping up next to him.

"There's blood here," he said in a strained voice. For a moment, I thought he might be showing signs of fear, but from the look on his face, it was more likely he was in pain.

Ide pointed his flashlight at the floor, to reveal not only splashes of blood, but a trail of footprints in the dust. "Old blood," he whispered. "I guess we could call a forensics team to come and take a sample, figure out whose it is."

"I already know whose it is," I murmured, and then offered Matsuda my hand to help him up, but he ignored it, got to his feet, and led the way down the narrow hall.

Close together, we journeyed through the damp black. Old light fixtures dangled over our heads, threatening to fall; on either side of us, parallel rows of blank doors made everything look the same, and straight ahead, shadows swallowed the hall so badly Ide's flashlight seemed more like a candle.

I watched Matsuda clip in the lead, marching just outside the halo of light, little more than a shadow himself.

He seemed so apt to slip away into the darkness, I called out to him, but quietly, "If you remember something, you'll tell us, right?"

"I don't remember anything, Aizawa," he called back, coolly.

"Shuichi!" Ide hissed, and snagged my arm, jerking me to a stop.

I was reluctant to take my eyes off Matsuda for even a second, but the sound of tight alarm in my best friend's voice commanded all of my attention easily, and as I turned to him, my heart shuddered. After twenty years of working together, and everything he'd ever done to show me he was tough, there was still nothing quite so rattling as hearing Hideki honestly scared.

In the flashlight, his skin appeared waxy, gray eyes round as they darted up and down the hall.

_"What_?" I whispered back, scanning for danger and clutching my pistol.

Ide flashed his light at the door beside him, and then the next one, and the next. Through the overwhelming silence, his voice quavered, "This is an asylum." His wild gaze met mine a moment. "An _insane _asylum."

"How do you—?"

Loudly, he kicked a door open, its reverberating clatter making me jolt, but he pointed his flashlight inside, illuminating a tiny cell equipped with nothing but a stiff-looking cot.

"Even mental hospitals don't look like this," he told me, still in his tight, scared tone. "They haven't for decades."

Far down the hall, Matsuda's blithe voice called, "You guys just figured that out?"

Ide ran after him, flashlight bobbing. "You've been here before! This is your blood we're walking on!"

Heart starting to pound, I jogged to catch up, afraid to lose sight of either of them.

_ What an evil place to be trapped… _

Ahead of me in the dark, Matsuda decided, "It doesn't matter what kind of building it is."

"How can you say that?" Ide demanded, still audibly distraught. "Whether you remember it or not, that should bother you!"

Matsuda stopped suddenly. I saw his eyes, hard as stone, in the light, and Ide nearly crashed into him. Coldly, he explained, "I can't feel anything. When will you get that?"

"Well it bothers me," Ide practically shouted. He'd lost his cigarette somewhere.

But Matsuda merely shrugged. "The trail ends here," he announced, and rammed open the door he'd stopped at, vanishing inside.

Ide stood staring after him, mouth turned in a severe frown, like an upside down wicket. "It bothers me a lot," he whispered.

I hooked my arm around his neck. "It bothers me too."

He shuddered against me. Typically, he hid all doubts and misgivings behind his snark—for once, though, he simply couldn't pretend none of this matter.

"Let's find something here that'll lead us to the bastard responsible for all this. And then you and I can kick the shit out of him."

"I'll do more than kick the shit out of him," Ide muttered, and then squared his shoulders as he faced the door, and we followed Matsuda.

Inside, he stood looking around, curiously, like a child in a museum, not a detective investigating the insane asylum where he'd been imprisoned and tortured. Casually, he announced, "There's not much here," but I disagreed.

All around me, signs of violence lay scattered: streaks of blood turned brown stained the walls, along with jagged marks and dents where it looked like someone—_someone_—had been thrown against it. The old light fixture was broken, and shards of glass sparkled on the floor. More blood. The obscene words, I want to suck off Kira had been written over and over in one of the corners. I recognized the handwriting. Someone—_someone_—had left their socks behind, burned, tattered, stained. Dead center of the room, a steel gurney waited, its old, leather straps stretched and even broken from struggle. More blood.

Falling back against the wall, I froze and stared. Right beside my hand it looked like _someone_ had clawed, frantically, at the plaster, just like a caged rat, leaving long, symmetrical marks, more blood, and a collection of ragged fingernails.

This was where it happened. Five days of being locked in here, going through things I was too afraid to even imagine, with no real hope of ever getting out, telling them everything they wanted to know, just to make the pain stop for a moment.

Supremely calm, Matsuda stooped down to scrape something up off the floor and turn it over in his hands. His missing molar, its still-bloody roots gnarled and dead. "I do remember this," he told me.

Matsuda coming in here and having a flashback was one of our best shots of getting somewhere with recovering the notebook and saving him from the deadness I heard in his voice, but I exploded, "You shouldn't even be here! You should never have been here! You shouldn't be here _now_."

His gaze flickered up to study my face, as if he didn't understand my anger.

"I looked for you," I told him, voice cracking. "I looked and looked for you…"

"Yes. I know."

Earnestly, I searched his emotionless eyes. "Are you really hypnotized? Are you sure you're not just blocking all this out?"

"I was blocking it out when you picked me up at the gas station," he assured me. "I was blocking it out when I talked to Near, even. But I wasn't programmed yet, and I am now, and I remember everything that happened in this room."

That could be another symptom of how the supposed brainwashing was interfering with his ability to process, but, even more frightening, was the possibility that he'd been programmed to remember what he'd been through at the sight or sound of certain triggers. That would mean, whoever did this, had known he'd make it back to this room. When the programming went away, then, Matsuda might have to face the trauma he'd blocked out.

"You shouldn't be here!" I yelled again, louder. "You should be in the hospital! God. Fuck! What is wrong with me?" I turned away, smashing my fist against the wall, busting a hole in it. Pain shot through my fist and arm.

"Woah, Shuichi." Ide took a step toward me.

All too easily, Matsuda said, "Well, I guess it probably won't make you happy to know nothing I remember is helpful. I could point out the perps if I saw them, but I can't tell you who they really are—"

"Matsuda." I whipped around to face him again, heaving, feeling close to breaking apart. "Matsuda, I'm sorry. I can't even tell you…how much I _hate_ myself for letting this happen to you!"

"Shuichi." Ide took hold of my arm. "Calm down—"

"How can you say that?" I shouted in his face. "Look where we are! How can you tell me calm down?"

He gaped at me.

"You're the one who shouldn't be here," Matsuda decided, glancing around the room again. "Anyway, I doubt he left any evidence; he always wore gloves."

"He?" Ide asked, faintly.

"Tero."

_Tero…_I stared down at my bleeding knuckles, overwhelmed with hate._ I'll get you, you sick motherfucker._

Carelessly, Matsuda tossed his molar back onto the floor. I supposed it didn't matter. The tooth was dead.

_We're lucky _he's_ not dead,_ I told myself, shuddering and clutching my hand. They could have just killed him when they got the information they wanted. Their using him to infiltrate us had saved his life. For now.

Trying not to think about what I was looking at, I picked my way around the room, once, taking pictures, getting angrier and sicker at every sight.

"It's strange they didn't wipe this room," Ide decided. "Really it's strange they left you here the way they did."

Matsuda's answer was careless. "Maybe they wanted me to come back here for some reason."

"Yeah, like what?"

"I don't know. Just to mess with us?"

Frustrated, Ide hissed and then said under his breath, "Whoever we're dealing with is one sick piece of shit."

"Oh, yeah," Matsuda agreed, without a trace of distress. "He's _really_ sick. He found this big centipede—Herman—"

"Herman?" Ide echoed, and then said, incredulously, "You named it?"

"Well, it was there with me for a few days before Tero found it."

"So, you gave it a name."

"I was scared, Ide."

Ide stayed quiet. After making fun of Matsuda the last few years for his revulsion to any insect—even harmless ones—I knew it disturbed him as much as it did me to think of someone like Tero exploiting that fear.

"Anyway, he found Herman, and—"

"Hey," I cut in, a little loudly, and turned to face him. "Is this story going to help us catch him?"

Matsuda blinked and looked blankly at me. "No. I guess not."

"Then I don't want to hear about it. I never want to hear about anything that happened in this room."

That wouldn't always be an option. I knew a day would come when I might have to hear those details, but I'd burn this building down and be done with it if I even thought it might help scrub some of these events from reality.

"Did Herman bite you?" Ide asked.

"No," Matsuda shifted through some broken glass on the floor, examining a bloody shard with interest. "But he dropped it on my face, and he tried to make it crawl in my ear, so—"

"Shut up," I snapped. "I told you I don't want to hear it." I glared at Ide. "If you want all the sick details later, feel free to chat about it over coffee."

Ide frowned. "I only asked because they're venomous."

"If you _want_ the details," Matsuda added, coldly.

"I _don't_," Ide growled.

"There's a tape somewhere."

"Tape?" We both gawked at him. "What do you mean there's a tape?"

Matsuda met my gaze with another shrug. "I'm surprised he never sent it to you. That's what he said he was making it for. To show the chief."

"I'm glad he didn't," I spat, turning for the door, unable to stand this any longer. "Knowing any of this happened without seeing it is bad enough." I muttered to Ide, "Let's go radio for forensics."

He looked sick as he watched Matsuda head for the door. "I don't know. Maybe Near is right and all the answers we need are in his mind."

Matsuda stepped out into the darkness, and we went right after him.

"Even if they are, though," I said, "I don't know how we can get that information without asking a lot of questions I don't want the answers to."

"Yeah." He sighed. "I don't really want them either. So maybe he needs to talk to someone else."

Eventually, Matsuda would probably have to talk to someone about all this anyway, but I muttered, "I'm not sure who I'd care to involve in—"

I stopped hard beside Matsuda, who'd frozen in the hallway to stare off to his right.

"Hey?" Ide said, and flashed his light that direction.

Not five yards away, a tall man stood in the hall. I got just a glimpse of his reddish-blonde hair and pale eyes before he turned and fled.

"Stop right there!" I ordered, automatically raising my pistol.

But Matsuda snarled, "Golden Teeth," and dashed after him, robbing me of all opportunities to take a shot as he sprinted away.

"Woah!" Ide blurted.

"Matsuda, wait!"

Side by side, we raced after them, jostling each other in the narrow space.

The stranger had a long gait, but Matsuda was fast. With each step I took, he seemed to manage two, and my heart started to pound. Ide's light flashed unsteadily across the floor as he ran, making me feel dizzy. I wanted to scream, but I didn't know what to say—the stranger wouldn't listen, and neither would Matsuda.

With cat-like quickness, the stranger careened around a corner, and Matsuda bolted right after him. Shoes screeching, we rounded just in time to see them both slam through a door, and I heard their steps pounding down another flight of stairs.

"Dammit!" I huffed, making myself run faster.

_If we lose track of him now…_

I couldn't stand to think about all the misery that might come of that.

Throwing my body against the door, I sprang through. Ahead of me, Matsuda swung himself over the banister, dropping to the next flight.

"You're gonna break your fucking legs!" Ide shouted, voice bouncing around me.

Somewhere, far off in the dark, I heard the stranger scrambling and panting. Stiff hinges groaned as another door slammed, and then again as Matsuda went right after him.

"Dammit! Dammit!" I leapt over the last few steps, landing hard and almost dropping, practically tumbled through the door and out into another, narrow hallway.

Panting, Ide burst out right behind me, and we paused, looking both directions. In the distance, Matsuda's lean figure shrank into the shadows.

"You idiot," Ide muttered under his breath, and we sprang forward together.

As we ran, I barely recognized that this hall was different—darker, built of steel and concrete—with crisscrossing rafters above us, and what felt like kilometer upon kilometer of darkness ahead of us. I splashed through a puddle of tepid water. Icy wind cut through my suit, and the air smelled fresher.

Matsuda vanished from sight ahead of us.

"When…did he…get…so…_fast?_" Ide gasped.

All the jogging he'd been doing lately must have paid off.

_Still not a super soldier._

I forced myself to go faster.

The further we went, the rougher the path became. Despite the light, I tripped over hunks of debris and almost broke my ankle in a ragged hole. Matsuda didn't have a flashlight, I reminded myself. With any luck, he'd trip and fall flat on his face—that would be just like him—giving us a chance to catch up.

Everything was quiet, outside the sounds of Hideki wheezing right beside me.

_Too much smoking_.

Finally, a spark of light came into view, and soon daylight flooded the hall.

Together, we slammed against a steel door and launched back into the open air. Sunlight burned my eyes; Flashes of bright blue and fluffy white rammed against stretches of rolling green. Off to the right, Matsuda sprinted along the wall of the building and vanished around the corner, not giving us a moment to pause.

As I jagged after him, I clenched my pistol tighter in my aching hand, but even if I'd had a chance to shoot the stranger, it may not have helped. We needed information.

Right when we rounded the corner, I heard an engine roar to life.

A black Toyota Celica sat rumbling in the grass.

Just ahead of me, Matsuda had slowed to a jog, watching the car. He froze suddenly.

"Matsuda!" I yelped, struggling to stop, but I wasn't quick enough, and I crashed into him. He fell on his face, and I landed right on top of him. Swearing, Ide tripped over my shins and ate dust beside me.

For an embarrassing moment, the three of us struggled to disentangle our limbs. Ide rolled away from me, coughing and sputtering curses, while I jumped automatically to a push-up position, letting Matsuda crawl out from under me, clutching his bruised ribs and uttering a groan.

"Ditz!" I smacked him upside the head. "You don't just stop like that!"

Absently, he rubbed the back of his head and sat up on his knees to watch the Celica tear away, but there was no way to catch the stranger now.

"Besides!" I leapt to my feet and hauled him up. "I've had it with this insubordination! Just taking off like that! What are you thinking?"

Coughing and groaning, Ide got up too, staggering against me as he tried to catch his breath, and my free hand steadied him automatically.

"I warned you, Sergeant. I don't care what's wrong with you." I bent down to collect my pistol and put it away. "You still follow my orders! If you can't do that, I'll suspend you; I don't care what Boko says, you're _my_ subordinate."

Ide shot a wide-eyed look at me. He hadn't caught his breath yet, but I knew he thought that was a bad idea, and last night he'd convinced me.

Suddenly, I wasn't so sure. Why even bother threatening Matsuda with suspension? He should be suspended already.

_I've done this before…_I realized, grimly.

Except the difference was, in the past, I hadn't had the power to suspend Matsuda, and now I certainly did.

After the horror room I'd just seen inside, the thought of locking him up made my chest tighten with dread.

_I don't want that. I just want this to be over so he can go back to normal and be with Sayu and live his life._

"What do you have to say for yourself?" I demanded, quieter.

"Kyoto plates," he replied mechanically. "Te. 55-55."

Ide and I both stared at him, but he hadn't taken his eyes off the Celica in the distance, and his face looked perfectly calm, just as he'd looked for days. I hadn't gotten used to it.

"You got a plate number?" Ide wheezed.

"I was focused," Matsuda announced. "Unlike you guys, worrying too much about—"

"_You_," I cut in, forcefully, "taking off on your own."

He barely glanced at me. "What kind of car was it, though? Toyota something."

"Celica," Ide snorted. "A20."

Matsuda folded his arms, gazing thoughtfully into the distance. "What would Golden Teeth come back here for?"

"Who is he?" I asked, reluctant to let him off the hook.

Again, Matsuda barely shot me a glance, this time fraught with vague annoyance. "Who do you think he is?"

"Look, smart ass," I exploded again, grabbing him by the arm and forcing him to face me. "Do I need to tell you this again? I am still your boss!"

"Not really," he argued coolly, and then added much too casually, "Technically, I'm an enemy operative."

"You are _not_. You're a screwed up, little warrant officer, and you do what I tell you. Understand?"

Matsuda shrugged. "I don't have time to think about your orders, Aizawa. I have to focus on my directive."

"Your _directive,_" I sneered, throwing up my hands. "I've nearly had it with that word! I don't want to hear one more thing out of you about _directives_, the notebook, centipedes, tapes, _teeth_, none of it!"

He gave me a questioning look. "What do you want? For me to freak out about the music video awards and—"

"As a matter of fact, I would love that, Matsuda!"

"Yeah, well, you never cared about any of that before—"

"You are so damn dumb!" I shouted, towering over him. "Even now! You're just so unbelievably _stupid_! I want you to be _normal_! Obviously!"

"I can't, so—"

"I know you can't! So just shut up, Sergeant!"

"Fine," he muttered, unbothered, though. "Yes, sir." With that, he suddenly turned to march back toward the car. "I'm going to go radio for forensics."

I hadn't gotten through to him in the slightest.

Finally able to breathe again, Ide nudged me. "Getting bent at him doesn't help. This isn't his fault."

"I know that," I growled. "And I'm not bent at him."

I trailed Matsuda, dead tired from running, chest still aching with all the anger and horror of what I'd just seen. Even if we figured this out, I could never take that back, the same as I couldn't take back what had happened to Chiba, and now it looked like Matsuda had come even closer to meeting that same type of fate than I'd realized. How was I supposed to atone for that?

"Whether you're mad at him, or just at yourself," Ide insisted, "yelling accomplishes nothing."

"I know that," I repeated, impatiently.

"This isn't your fault, Shuichi. Someone did this to him. They didn't ask your permission, they didn't give you an opportunity to interfere. Someone just wanted to hurt him, so they did. There's no point in blaming yourself for that."

"I'm not so sure."

"If you could have done something, I know you would have. What else is there to say? We can't watch over him twenty-four-seven."

Anger throbbed through me. Telling me I wasn't responsible for finding Matsuda or even keeping him safe didn't make any sense to me, and he obviously didn't understand my role as chief. "That isn't what I'm saying."

"I don't know what you're thinking, then. We did everything we could to protect him, we did look everywhere for him—it's not our fault we didn't find him—and we're doing everything in our power now to help him."

"Maybe not."

He gave me a warning look. "I know you don't want to hear this, but I really, really think suspending him and detaining him will just make matters worse." He added lowly, "Like last time."

"Last time was different."

"It was, but I still don't think it'll be any more effective this time."

"Well, that's my decision, not yours."

Ide frowned. "All right, I'm just telling you up front, even if you suspend him, I won't let you detain him."

I jerked to a stop and stared at him, mouth hanging open. "What's that, Captain?"

"I won't let you," he repeated, stonily. "You can suspend me too, if you want, but I'm not losing track of him; I'm not risking the chance that he'll try to do this on his own."

"Whatever happened to I want to follow your orders, Aizawa, no one else's?"

"I suck at following orders," he reminded me.

"You son of a bitch!" I exploded. "You acted like I was the only person on Earth—"

"I know," he cut in, lowly, "but however this programming works, it's strong. He's not going to sit back and ignore it simply because you suspend him. Even if you detain him, he's going to at least try to bust out."

"I'd like to see him try to bust out of the mental hospital."

"Right," Ide snorted. "You're right. They'll shoot him full of drugs, strap his hands to his crotch, and throw him in a padded room. Is that really what you want? To see Touta Matsuda in a straight jacket for the rest of his life?"

Furious, I snarled, "You know that isn't what I'm talking about!"

"I know it's not what you think you're talking about," he answered, quieter than I had, but clearly just as angry. "I don't know what you think they will do with him, especially if he's making sheet ropes, trying to jump through windows all the time."

"We're already going ahead with your brilliant plan of following him around, trying to keep him from getting killed. So just be happy, Ide."

"Yeah," he muttered, sardonically. "I'm _thrilled_, Aizawa."

I realized we'd bickered our way up to the car, where Matsuda stood staring at us with somewhat wide eyes. "I don't think I've ever seen you guys fight this bad," he mused, in his apathetic tone.

"So, Spock," Ide sniffed, lighting a cigarette and still sounding pissed. "What do you make of that?"

Thoughtfully, Matsuda tilted his head to one side and stared at the sky. "Seems like a waste of energy." But then he shrugged, like it had nothing to do with him at all, and met my gaze. "There's a forensics team heading our way."

That's what we needed, and yet when I pictured any outsiders stepping into that cell and seeing what I'd seen, or worse, questioning him, my blood started cooking all over again with outrage.

_That means I have to get him out of here._

"What's their ETA?" Ide asked.

Matsuda looked blankly at him.

"_Estimated time of arrival?"_

"Oh, oh, right. Forty five minutes."

That was the last of this I could handle, I decided. Seeing him be the same space cadet he'd always been without any of the laughter or embarrassment to go with it felt like insult to injury, so I announced, with just as much authority as I had left in me, "All right, Sergeant, you and I will rendezvous with Mogi. Captain." I gave Ide a stern look. "You wait for forensics."

Ide's eyes narrowed and darkened until they looked like chunks of charcoal set in his angular face. "You're going to leave me here?"

"Wait for forensics," I repeated.

"_Why_. Exactly." His tone turned scathing. "Why me? Why don't all three of us wait here?"

"For God's sake, Ide, it's not personal."

Still he scowled at me, distrustfully, and he probably thought I was going to drive Matsuda straight to the psyche ward and try to commit him while he stayed stranded out here.

Obviously not thinking of that, the kid went around and climbed in the passenger's seat without saying goodbye.

"We'll see you later," I told Ide.

Not as much as muttering under his breath, he turned away, staring back at the asylum.

Apparently, I'd offended him, such a rare thing, I barely understood how it had happened.

"Hideki, it's not—"

"It's fine," he said shortly. "Do what you need to do."

I studied him. We'd been getting on each other's nerves since yesterday, and he'd clearly been upset inside the asylum. Leaving while we were both angry would only agitate him more.

"Just go," he muttered.

With a sigh, I got in to start the car.

As we pulled away, Matsuda stuck his hand out the window and suddenly asked, "You don't have any siblings, huh, Ai?"

Hearing him talk to me like we were still friends, calling me Ai with that callous tongue, nearly pushed me over the edge. I tried to remember when and how he'd even started calling me that, but it wasn't like Taniki-tan—which had taken damn near every brain cell he had—or Mochi—which had come from Misa Amane anyway—it seemed like he'd just blurted it out one day in a rush, as if he couldn't be bothered to say my whole name. I remembered how red his face had turned, and the awkward way he'd paused, and I'd known that was probably something he'd been calling me in his head for a long time. For whatever reason, I'd chosen not to comment on it, and after that, he said it more and more, until it was too late to stop him.

Now it just sounded like a joke, something he said strictly to remind me that I didn't matter to him like I used to.

_Who would have thought_?

Seven years of the little spaz desperately seeking my approval and friendship, and I was the one falling apart when he went cold.

"I don't," I told him, at last.

"This is probably all really weird for you," he decided. "I mean, you've probably never felt this way about anyone before."

As long as I dared, I took my eyes off the road to give him a hard look. "What are you talking about?"

"Ide. He's like the brother you never got to have, right? That's what all that stuff you told me the other day was about. How he drove you crazy when you were younger, how you used to clean his apartment just so he'd relax. You'd probably never felt responsible for someone like that before."

My face turned warm. My relationship with Hideki had always been complicated. From the outside, the rest of the squad saw how he reined me in and how I let him get away with things I wouldn't take from anybody else, without understanding the complexities that made us that way. People wondered at the fact that I'd gone crawling to him after I had to leave the task force, or how he'd joined again strictly to work with me. Plenty of people had laughed at it or questioned what made two such opposite men so attached to one another, but no one, other than Eriko, had ever dug in deep or pulled out a halfway accurate assessment, and Matsuda's diagnosis left me feeling strangely exposed. Automatically, I opened my mouth to tell him to shut his.

"I'm the youngest," he went on, conversationally, "but I have sisters. I guess I used to feel protective of them. Fuka tried to kill herself when she was a teenager. For a long time, I really thought it was my fault—not because I did anything to her, but because I wasn't there when she needed me. I didn't notice how wrong things were. I almost let her die."

I shot him another look. "Why are you saying any of this?"

Pausing, Matsuda stared out at the wide open field, and gradually frowned before admitting, "Because nothing makes sense anymore."

This time, I stared at him so long, we nearly swerved off the road.

Slowly, he turned to me, repeating, "Nothing makes any sense this way, Ai." But, although his tone remained neutral, the words themselves hinted at a latent distress, as if he knew the confusion pointed to something terrible, the same way he'd put on a black suit as a way to mourn for himself, and he simply couldn't understand why that was.

"Don't worry, kiddo," I told him, at once, even though I knew he wasn't worried, and he wasn't asking for help. "We'll fix it."


	13. Chapter 13

**Note: **As thanks to a lovely reader who made my day, just wanted to say I've not given up on this story, I've just hit some snags. Thanks for reading!

**Part Two**

_I'm chasing memories within_

_But the words slip through my fingers again…_

_-Hope within Hatred_

_Shattered Sun_

* * *

**Mogi**

* * *

9:45 am.

Early in the morning, in this dusty, seemingly forgotten portion of the city, nothing moved, but the GPS record had led me to this address. In fact, aside from the places Matsuda had been since Aizawa and Ide recovered him, and basic travel routes, the record only revealed two solid locations.

Originally, I'd thought it unlikely that the address on the outskirts of town—the location Matsuda thought he'd woken up in—could provide much information, particularly since we'd been able to uncover anything about it via internet search, but standing outside this worn down structure, I began to doubt anything could be learned here either.

It appeared to be a typical office building, decades old, and hurried inquiry had revealed that some research group had inhabited it since the seventies. It didn't seem like the usual place to purchase or manufacture a high tech item like the GPS device I'd dug out of Matsuda's tooth.

Horrible memory. I'd spend the rest of my life trying to eliminate that one, and to have Matsuda sitting beside me at the breakfast bar, watching with mild interest as I ground away at the enamel of his own molar, not caring in the least about the gruesomeness of it, made things seem that much more bleak.

Drawing a deep breath, I headed for the double doors, dusty and creaky, trying without success to block the memory out, but Matsuda's actions haunted me.

When Aizawa first told me he was allegedly a sleeper cell, I'd been skeptical at best. After all, that wasn't the sort of thing that happened all the time. Not to your everyday NPA detective at least. Of course, I'd noticed last night that he seemed to be not quite himself, and I'd told myself he could be having some sort of emotional episode brought on by trauma, but in a normal state of mind, Matsuda could never have watched me chip away at his tooth, at least not so calmly. For that matter, Aizawa and Ide hadn't been able to watch. Turning pale and nauseated at the very suggestion that we'd need to retrieve the device, they'd hurriedly excused themselves to go get dinner. Aizawa had hardly hesitated to glare, with mixes of sternness and concern, at Matsuda and explain, _"If you're not coming with us, I expect you to be right here when I get back."_

He'd been out the door before I could even finish assuring him, _"I won't let him go anywhere."_

Of course, by the time I was done with my sordid task, I'd felt apt to vomit myself, so I'd stepped out onto the balcony for a moment or two to get some fresh air; when I returned, Matsuda had already plugged the GPS into his lap top to review its contents, but as he'd sang out the addresses he saw, his voice had utterly lacked enthusiasm. Instead, he'd simply grumbled, _"I doubt the notebook is in either of these places."_

Inside, I passed a small foyer, through another set of doors, and into a reception lobby, complete with the usual row of chairs and stacks of magazines. The state of the faded carpet and the color of the walls told me very little, other than the fact that this place hadn't recently been renovated. Perhaps it never had since the day the building was constructed; that indicated that this company wasn't overly concerned with the opinion of whatever clients it might receive, and the elderly man behind the reception desk squinted at a computer screen, not seeming to notice me. Nothing in the dull atmosphere gave away what this building might be used for.

Try as I might not to worry, I'd come to realize there was much more at stake than the notebook itself.

By all accounts, being emotionless made Matsuda twice as efficient as before, which certainly explained how he'd managed to elude Rester at the yellow box, but he'd been normal up to the moment Near mentioned Light's name. He at least didn't plan any of this, which only left me wondering how much of it Aizawa had planned.

At last, I approached the desk, clearing my throat and feeling oddly alone as the man looked up, eyes magnified by his thick glasses. "Can I help you?" he gasped, as if it was odd to find anyone at all standing there, and he leaned over to check an appointment book. "No one is scheduled for another hour…"

"Yes, I don't have an appointment." With a practiced flourish, I produced my old badge. "I'm Detective Mogi, with the NPA."

"NPA," the man echoed in a hushed voice, face paling.

Though it wasn't true anymore, Aizawa's standing as chief should be enough to keep me out of trouble. He had much more power than perhaps he even realized, and yet, it still was unlike him to be corrupt.

According to him, Boko fully intended to exploit Matsuda's condition, and as much as I wanted to believe it was impossible for Aizawa or Ide to be involved in that plot, I couldn't be sure yet.

The man behind the desk asked to know more about what I'd come by for, and I barely had the presence of mind to answer. "I'm investigating a case."

Without a doubt, the answer was much too vague, but I hardly knew what else to say, and in a few moments, another man had arrived regardless, this one younger, in his mid-fifties, I'd guess, with a balding head and an angry look in his eye.

"What is the meaning of this?" he demanded, before I could even greet him. "We have an agreement with the NPA!"

Evidently, he thought I should be aware already of said agreement. His bad manners caught me off guard. "I'm Detective Mogi," I explained again, at last. "I'm—"

"I don't care who you are," he snapped, a vein in his forehead beginning to throb. "We've had all our licenses and permits for years, and I'm tired of being harassed by the police! What's the name of your superior?"

Blinking, I glanced around the lobby again, trying to find anything—anything at all—even remotely out of place. The receptionist sat quietly at his desk, watching us with huge eyes. "Sir, I think there's been a misunderstanding," I explained. "I…am just here to look around."

His eyes narrowed. "Do you have a warrant for that?"

"No," I admitted, slowly, "but I suppose I can get one."

Huffing, he drew himself up, and I knew that wasn't what he wanted to hear.

"I hoped," I added, taking another, more thorough look through the lobby, but this time merely for showmanship, "I'd be able to get a quick tour and not get the dogs involved, but—"

"Dogs!" he squeaked.

"Yes, the dogs. You see, this location seems to have something to do with a kidnapping, and since I'm looking for a person, I can't take any risks."

"Person?" Suddenly, he started to smile. "Oh, Detective, I can assure you that we're not keeping any prisoners here. All our subjects are perfectly willing. If you like, I can show you around—you can interview anyone you see."

Thoughtfully, I studied him, but he was small and professional-looking, not the sort I'd expect to find entangled in a case like ours. "Your nervousness about the dogs alarms me."

"Yes, yes, I'm sure it does," he agreed, quickly, suddenly striding to the door he'd come out of. "Detective, there's nothing here I wouldn't want the dogs to find, it's just that they're so noisy… We've been through those types of searches before—back when there were rumors that we use ilicit drugs for our work—and it's so disruptive, I'd prefer not to go through it again." With a loud creak, he thrust the door open, and gestured for me to follow. "I'll show you around, Detective. You'll see we have nothing to hide."

His sudden willingness to give me a tour was exactly what I wanted, and yet I hesitated, feeling nervous about what I might discover here. He'd mentioned human subjects, and he insisted this place was legitimate. Could it be that the NPA was behind brainwashing Matsuda after all?

_It would take a heartless man,_ I thought, heading after him, _to use someone he considers a friend this way._

Shuichi Aizawa was many things, but heartless certainly wasn't one of them, and even if he'd been ordered by his superiors to get the death note, I just could not believe he'd intentionally destroy Matsuda to accomplish that.

On the other hand, I hadn't been around Matsuda very much so far. When it came to assessing the true nature of his condition, there was more data to collect; for all I knew, he hadn't been utterly destroyed. Or, possibly, Aizawa hadn't understood the full implications of what they were going to do to him and therefore hadn't intended to destroy him.

_If he had no choice but to be a part of the operation, and he had to choose someone to use, why not Matsuda? _He'd made it clear over the years that Matsuda was more or less an annoyance. I knew he'd put him on an undercover beat after I left the NPA, but if Matsuda hadn't done well, it was possible he'd come to view him as expendable.

Even if that weren't the case, Aizawa would have limited options when it came to who to send; it would have to be someone with knowledge of the death note, and, of course, he'd never risk losing Ide, who was practically a member of his family.

Tampering with Matsuda's mind, though? Hurting him to achieve a goal?

_That still doesn't sound like Aizawa._

I watched the man leading me; despite his short gait, he carried himself with confidence through the narrow hall, past a few offices, and toward another set of doors, polished and newer in appearance than anything I'd seen so far.

"All our subjects are volunteers," he announced. "I'm sure I don't have to tell you it would be illegal if they weren't." He shot me a somewhat resentful smile.

Easy-riding Ide would never volunteer for anything so difficult or risky, but Matsuda could have. He had a habit of offering himself up as a sacrifice out of his misguided belief that he _was_ expendable, and if Aizawa had convinced him that such an operation was necessary to get the notebook out of Near's hands, it was entirely possible he'd simply agreed to submit to whatever they'd done to him. So again, the real question was, would Aizawa—and by extension, Ide—take advantage of Matsuda's trust?

Last night, they'd both been outraged at the very suggestion, and at the time I hadn't known about the brainwashing yet. Their fury made sense now, and it had felt genuine. I certainly didn't want to think they'd betray him.

"I'm Doctor Chiyuuda, by the way," the man said, finally offering his hand so we could shake, awkwardly, just before we pressed through the doors. "I apologize for being rude, but as I said, the NPA really has given this company a hard time."

Around us now, things appeared relatively normal, if not cleaner and newer, from the shiny tile floor, to the LED lights overhead. In the air, a faint scent of sterilizer hung, but Doctor Chiyuuda escorted me through a wide room full of cubicles, where a legion of office workers carried out what appeared to be a regular work day.

"Excuse me, Doctor," I said, because so far I couldn't see for myself what this place had to do with research or volunteer subjects, or _anything_, really, with what had happened Matsuda. "Just what sort of facility is this?"

Chiyuuda looked up, raising his eyebrows in evident confusion. "Oh. I'm sorry, I assumed you knew… We're a psychiatric research company. We study sleep patterns, mental disorders, brainwaves, things like that; we also do research for new, more effective drugs to help people with anxiety, insomnia. Etcetera. We've gotten somewhat small over the last forty years as the industry has grown, but we used to be quite formidable."

"I see." That matched up somewhat at least, and made me all the more suspicious. Again, this was a real company, not some underground, Mengele operation that kidnapped people for experiments. In my pocket, I squeezed the GPS device, which I'd placed in a plastic baggy. For all I knew, Matsuda volunteered to get the notebook, the NPA brought him here to be programmed, and implanted the GPS themselves as a security measure.

_For all I know, the NPA _kidnapped_ him and then brought him here._

Again, I couldn't shake how afraid and distraught Matsuda had been when he interviewed with Near in the yellow box, suggesting that his experience had been terrifying and real.

Would Aizawa let me investigate this place alone if he was involved?

_I wouldn't be considering any of this if Near hadn't put the idea into my head; he must think it's at least possible the NPA is behind this._

Too bad he hadn't put a percentage on his level of certainty.

On the far side of the office, Chiyuuda opened another door, letting me go ahead of him into yet another hallway, this one blinding white, and the scent of chemicals lingered even stronger in the air. The rooms, we passed, though the doors were closed, seemed cozy. Through their windows, I saw walls painted soothing, neutral colors, softly glowing lamps, comfortable-looking couches, and people dressed so normally, I had difficulty determining who was even the doctor.

"This wing here," Chiyuuda explained, "is where our outpatients come. It's a routine counseling and psychiatric clinic, though most of the doctors are still interns working under a mentor—they're thoroughly evaluated before they get hired full time—so the patients receive discount prices on any counseling." He smiled at me. "Let me know if you'd like to talk with any of them."

"I assume this isn't all you do," I said, trying not to sound caustic.

"No," he chuckled. "Of course not. Since you're investigating an alleged kidnapping, I assume you're looking for someone who isn't here of their own free will."

From there, he led me upstairs to a wing that looked a bit more like a hospital, though not quite so austere, painted light but warm colors—cheery yellow halls and beige cells with windows to let in plenty of natural light.

"These are our volunteers," Chiyuuda told me. "They commit themselves if they have a serious problem—many of them are depressed or suicidal, some have insomnia, as I've mentioned—some come here if they simply want a safe place to stay for a few days. They sign waivers so we can do our research. We're fully licensed for the drugs we prescribe. We don't take anyone dangerous or, in laymen's terms, psychotic, and we certainly don't kidnap people."

Everyone did appear to be there of their own choice—no one beating on doors or begging to be released—and I didn't see bars on the windows; that would be nightmarish. He allowed me to speak with several patients, but outside of looking sleepless or unhappy, most of them were polite and agreed that they were, of course, there because they'd chosen to be. I asked around about Matsuda too, but no one had seen someone matching his description there before.

_Then again, he is rather average-looking. Who could say?_

Convinced there must be more, I insisted the tour go on, so he took me to a level of administrative offices where Chiyuuda himself resided; he introduced me to his wife, also an administrator, and told me warmly, "You see, we're a family business, Detective. We merely want to help."

Then he went so far as to show me the basement level, where the drug research was done, but it looked just as clean and up to code as I'd expect any such department to be, everyone wearing gloves and goggles, not so much as smudges on the glass. All very common…

By the time the tour concluded, I did feel quite confused, and I stood for a long time in the hallway, gazing back and forth, trying to understand, while Chiyuuda watched me, expectant, and even somewhat smug.

"You see," he said again, "we're not kidnappers. And given that we have some rather delicate patients here, I'm sure you understand why I don't want a pack of monstrous dogs running loose through the building."

"No, of course not," I agreed. That all made sense now.

After another pause and a curious look, Chiyuuda asked, "Is there some other way I can help, Detective?" and I understood he wanted me to leave, but I wasn't ready to give up on this place.

"I'm wondering," I told him at last, "if your group does any research on hypnotism, brainwashing, or mind control."

Throughout the tour, he'd been perfectly composed, confident he had nothing to hide, and I felt certain I'd seen every crevice of the building, so it surprised me to see his eyes widen and his face lose its color. "Where did you learn about that?"

"It's a classified operation," I muttered, unsure what else to say, since I hadn't expected his reaction.

Chiyuuda's expression darkened. "If the NPA is planning to contract us out for that sort of project, please tell your superiors that it's out of the question. The research is inconclusive, and it's dangerous, not to mention inhumane."

Attempting to hide my own surprise, I met his gaze a while. "Then, you have researched it."

"Not me personally," he snapped. "And for your information, Detective, I shut down the department that _was_ working on it. I thought it was sick."

"Is it really that finite?" I wondered. "Absolute control?"

"I don't know," he growled, "we didn't research it very extensively. As I've said, it's inhumane."

My chest tightened at the words. "But it's possible. What is it you were working on? Hypnosis?"

"_I_ wasn't working on anything, Detective," he corrected brusquely, and then pondered my expression before lowering his voice. "It might help if I understood a bit better the nature of the situation."

"I don't know exactly." I drew the GPS from my pocket. "But our kidnapped victim seems to have been subjected to some sort of mental programming, and he had this on his person."

Chiyuuda barely glanced at it before looking me in the eyes again.

"It seems to have originated here."

At last, he sighed, leaned back against the wall, and ran a hand across the top of his balding head. "Detective, we've purchased a small number of those from a local company, and we use them, occasionally, in our research. I can explain more about that, if you like, but I think the important thing in this situation is that several of those devices were stolen from us recently."

"A break-in?"

Stiffly, he shook his head. "No. I assume it was an employee. I never reported it, because it didn't seem like a big deal to me."

Terrible business sense, I thought, but then, he did insist this company's main purpose was to help people. So far, he hadn't been much help to _me_.

"I dug this device out of the tooth of a friend of mine," I told him.

Chiyuuda's eyes bulged as he turned to me and his mouth fell open. "A-a _tooth_?"

"That's right. At the moment, I can't imagine who put it there in the first place, but I do know the GPS was activated here—"

"All of them are activated here," he explained in a quiet voice. "I assume the thief didn't realize that."

"Whatever the case, the victim's mind has been badly tampered with, and he was missing for several days."

"I'm sorry to hear that, Detective, but the most I can do is give you the video footage from the around the time I think the devices were stolen. I don't even know what specific date that might have been."

"I want the names of the researchers who were looking into mind control as well," I told him.

Chiyuuda stared at the floor, frowning, but murmured, "Yes, Detective, of course. If you think that will help, I'm happy to oblige."

If we were able to see the thief on the video footage, accurately identify them, and then find that same person on the list of researchers, we might get somewhere, and I was grateful for that, but it didn't assuage my fears entirely.

"One last question," I told Chiyuuda, as he began to lead me away again, to the security office. "You act as though the NPA has requested to use your experimental research before. When is the last time they made that request?"

"Some time ago," he murmured in a drained tone. "Years."

Not recent enough for them to have necessarily have been involved in what happened to Matsuda, but I had no doubt that if the government really wanted to get into mind control, they'd find another way, another research group, another method entirely, so I didn't dare rule out the possibility yet.

"Would you allow me to see the research on the subject?"

Again, Chiyuuda hesitated, and I knew there must be something there he didn't want me to find, but he agreed. "It may take me some time to dig it up, but…yes. The only thing I ask is that you don't remove it from the premisis or take any pictures of the information."

"You have my word."

Either way, he looked sharply at me. "I do not want that information falling into the wrong hands. If it hasn't already."

"No," I said. "Neither do I." But it _had_ fallen into the wrong hands, apparently. It was just a toss up of who those hands might belong to.

I tried to think positively, though. If I could learn more we might even be able to get Matsuda restored to normal in short order.

_However_, _the popular opinion at the moment seems to be that Matsuda is the key to getting the notebook back, and if I want to keep my job, that is my priority._

My stomach felt sick at the idea.

_Even if I take my personal interests out of the equation—Matsuda _and_ my job—getting the notebook out of criminal hands is still the priority._

That realization hit me so hard, I had to stop and lean heavily against the wall, and Chiyuuda paused too, calling my name from what felt like a great distance.

_Do I dare let this run its course as a measure of retrieving the death note?_

Absolutely not. There was no reason I should even think I might have to; obviously if I found the death note on my own that would solve the whole thing, but for now I needed a better understanding of who was with me and who was against me.

Perusing the research file took about an hour; it wasn't very large, but since I wasn't allowed to take it with me, I tried to commit as many details to memory as possible, though it really didn't help much. It seemed the team had experimented with a couple different types of brainwashing and mind control before being dissolved, and one method did sound similar to what Matsuda said had happened to him—a complicated sort of coding similar to hypnosis—but I found Matsuda's opinion on the matter none too reassuring.

Guts still roiling with distress, I took the security footage, along with the list of researchers Doctor Chiyuuda provided, and headed out again, still unsure if I'd gotten anywhere, despite a whole morning spent.

Before climbing into my rental, I paused to take a look around at the way the morning had deepened and how the area had livened up, full now of traffic and pedestrians, but no one came or went from the clinic, and the only car parked on the same side of the street as me was an old Subaru wagon, so I assumed Chiyuuda's employees and outpatients must park in a designated lot nearby. If Matsuda had been brought here, against his will or not, I imagined they would have been careful not to leave any security footage of him entering the building

I phoned Aizawa, still unsure about whether or not I could trust him and Ide. I knew better than to trust Matsuda at all. There was a small chance of trickery on his part, and, in fact, I found entirely possible he wasn't acting himself because he didn't feel well.

If he was normal, though, knowing that the trust between us had broken would devastate him, he'd do everything in his power, not let me alone for a second, until he'd proven that I could trust him, and yet, last night, he hadn't even apologized for attacking me; being sick, in pain, and traumatized didn't explain away the callousness he'd shown.

I stayed cautious not to tell Aizawa too much over the phone, and he instructed me to meet them at a small café not far from Matsuda's apartment where, he said, he wanted to get something to eat, have a drink, and recoup. My whole way across town, I wondered if he was capable of faking the strain I'd heard in his voice, but for as long as I'd known him, he'd been a perfectly straightforward person. What's more, I'd always trusted him and looked up to him.

Nonetheless, his stress didn't have to be disingenuous if he'd agreed to something without understanding the implications, or if the situation had simply gotten out of his control. When I reached the café and saw him sitting on the patio with Matsuda, head in his hands, I even wondered if Matsuda had volunteered, and Aizawa simply hadn't been able to stop him, though, for as long as I'd known them, the chief had held enough of Matsuda's admiration and respect to nearly always convince him to do as he asked. I found it hard to imagine that he'd simply failed to dissuade him in this extremely serious situation.

Before going inside, I approached the patio gate, where Aizawa met me, rubbing his forehead in obvious worry. Masked behind sunglasses, his expression was difficult to make sense of, but, in addition to being apparently tired, he seemed quite miserable. I noticed his right hand bore fresh gashes and appeared to be swollen.

The sight awakened a sense of alarm in me. Depending on the circumstances and, more specifically, the stakes, Aizawa could be nearly as reckless as Matsuda, and twice as bull-headed. Last night, when I'd arrived, he'd already been in a noticeably distraught frame of mind, so much so that he'd, apparently, been bickering with Ide, who, despite turning up his charm and knack for diplomacy, hadn't made much headway in soothing his chief. I remembered the pacifying tone he'd utilized as he reminded Aizawa that we needed the GPS more than Matsuda needed his tooth and knew that Ide was scrambling to prevent Aizawa from diving headfirst into guilt and hysteria.

"Where's Ide?" I asked, thinking I'd like some indication from him what Aizawa's state of mind might be before I started asking questions. At the very least, I'd like to know how he'd nearly broken his hand.

"Talking with forensics. He's going to meet us soon." Aizawa heaved an inexplicable sigh.

That left me alone with the tattered remains of the emotionally-driven side of this team, an unpleasant prospect at the very least, and I hardly felt I had the patience to weather it.

From a distance, I studied Matsuda, who drank intermittently from a whiskey glass and gazed around the café without interest. As always, there was something happy-go-lucky to him—careless even—but no emotion behind it, and the fact that he hadn't jumped out of his seat and trotted over to meet me at once, asking questions and prattling about what they'd found, spoke further to his altered state.

"We didn't get much evidence so far," Aizawa told me in his drained voice. "But we'll see what forensics comes up with. I guess." He winced there, like he didn't enjoy the thought of what forensics might discover. "We did get a plate number, though, to a car driven by one of the kidnappers."

That seemed like a good start. I nodded, and then looked at Matsuda, who still hadn't acknowledged me. With Aizawa present, I didn't know how much I'd be able to deduce about his condition, and I wished I'd taken advantage of the time we'd spent alone yesterday evening, but I'd been far too busy digging out the GPS, trying not to think too hard about what I was doing while also giving it my undivided attention. Eventually, I asked, "How…much do you think he's still in there?" and gauged his reaction carefully.

Aizawa shot a furtive glance at Matsuda over his shoulder. "He still does and says a lot of things that are just like him. I don't know if…" He paused, hard, scraping his fingers against the grain of his goatee, before grating out. "I can't tell if he's numb, or maybe just…" At a loss for words, he trailed away.

"Is he helpful this way?" I wondered.

Aizawa shot a scrutinizing frown my direction, like the question offended him, and I held my breath, unsure what to expect. "Well," he snorted, "I guess, _technically_, he's more efficient. But when it comes to completing the operation, I wouldn't personally expect him to do it all by himself. I think he'd get killed."

As far as I was concerned, letting Matsuda wander around on his own wasn't in my repertoire of options, if only because he was physically unfit to do so.

"I'm not sure what everyone else is thinking," Aizawa announced, bitterly, "but _I'm_ not going to let that happen."

If nothing else, that felt genuine, so I went inside, put in my order for a light lunch before joining them on the patio, where they both sat in unnerving silence.

Matsuda met my gaze at last, and I murmured, "Hey," simply because it was awkward for him to neglect to greet me, and then sat down between the two of them, studying him discreetly. His swollen face looked even worse now, and I could hardly believe he'd removed one of his own molars with a pair of pliers. That took some force of will.

"What'd you find out?" he asked suddenly. "Any leads?"

" 's security footage to look through." I turned to Aizawa, again watching his reaction. "That GPS device was stolen from some sort of psyche research group."

Behind his aviators, his eyebrows arched.

"What kind of research?" Matsuda wanted to know, and I paused, a bit disoriented at the fact that he was the one asking questions, but then, Aizawa looked like he wasn't in any mood to handle much else, lightly squeezing his hand, testing for fractures.

"They do a variety of studies on the human mind," I explained. "I don't think they were personally responsible for this, but whoever stole the GPS may have been working there as part of a project that got disbanded." I frowned at Matsuda. "Mind control."

"So what? Someone from this group went rogue?" Aizawa asked. "Decided they wanted to try out the stuff they'd been researching?"

"Makes sense," Matsuda muttered.

We both turned to him.

"Does it?" Aizawa asked, a little softly.

Shrugging, Matsuda downed some whiskey. "Tero's a total sociopath. I think the motive matches."

"Tero?" I glanced at Aizawa.

"The fuck job behind all this," he muttered back at me. "I guess, if he's as sick as he sounds, he got it into his head that he wanted to try and copycat Kira, kidnapped a member of the old taskforce, and put this half-baked sleeper cell plan into action."

It sounded wild. Any wilder than the NPA wanting the notebook, though? It was hard to say how they would have even found out it existed. After enduring so much to protect it, I couldn't imagine Aizawa or Ide suddeny disclosing that information, but, possibly, Matsuda had blurted it out to someone.

Rubbing my bruised head, I asked Matsuda, "Is it possible someone hired them?"

Matsuda blinked. "Like who? I mean, yeah, I guess it's _possible_, but they didn't mention anything about that. Tero really seemed like he was running the show."

"Tero," Aizawa scoffed. "Who calls himself that?"

"You'd get it if you met him," Matsuda assured him, glibly.

"It's a little like Kira," I pointed out. "Kira—killer. Tero—terror."

"Yeah, great," Aizawa grumbled, "a Kira wannabe."

"Has anyone been killed by the notebook yet?" Matsuda wondered.

Clicking his tongue, Aizawa shook his head. "There's no way to tell right now."

"If Tero figures out he can control people before they die," Matsuda said, much too loudly, "we'll definitely notice that."

"Shh!" Aizawa hushed him, looking around the patio. "You know, this isn't a great time or place to be discussing any of that."

"No one knows what we're talking about," Matsuda replied, carelessly.

At least I could see what Aizawa had meant about him still acting more or less the same, though, astoundingly, with even less propriety than ever, and less respect as well, likely because he no longer cared if we respected him, and that, in so many ways, threatened to make me feel very sad.

From the beginning, I'd been privileged to the details regarding Matsuda's personal quest to gain respect and friendship from our fellows; due to my silent nature, he'd assumedly pegged me as a worthy confidant, resulting in numerous instances in which he'd expressed to me, quietly but earnestly, just how much he wanted to help with the Kira investigation, how badly he wanted the approval of Soichiro Yagami and the respect of us—his senior colleagues—and, once or twice, even the silent hope that, eventually, he could be as efficient as I, as level-headed as Ide, as tough and as dedicated an officer as Aizawa. Over time, he'd spoken of it less and less, but I knew better than to believe those desires had ever gone away. Up until now.

Scowling at him a few seconds, Aizawa suddenly prompted, "What did I tell you, Sergeant?"

Matsuda pondered the question, and then answered, "I still have to do what you tell me."

"That's right. So when I tell you not to discuss classified information in public, you shut your mouth."

With a shrug, Matsuda returned to gazing around the patio. Releasing an exasperated sigh, Aizawa met my gaze with an expression that seemed to say, see what I've been dealing with all day, but I doubted his annoyance could so much as hold a candle to his worry.

A cheerful server brought our food and even stood trying to chat with us a moment, accentuating the awkwardness of our gathering, since neither Aizawa nor I had ever been overly social, and suddenly it seemed we were both simply watched Matsuda, waiting, without much hope, that he'd come to life and at least smile at her, but he didn't even appear interested in eating and merely asked for a second whiskey.

"Take it easy with that," Aizawa muttered, when she came back with the drink. "It's the middle of the day."

Taking a heavy breath, Matsuda slouched in his seat, letting his head hang, and from the twisted look on his mouth, I got the impression he really was in a lot of pain now.

"Eat your soup," Aizawa nagged between bites. "You haven't eaten all day."

"You can't just have whiskey," I added.

After that, Matsuda tried to eat, but he only got through a few apparently painful spoonfuls before he gave up and rested his forehead against the heel of his hand, and then Aizawa more or less ignored the remainders of his meal as well, chain smoking and drinking instead, and I was certainly beginning to feel that he couldn't be faking his stress level, let alone the guilty looks he kept leveling on Matsuda.

"This is not going to work," he announced when he'd had a couple cigarettes. "You can't function like this—no one can."

"You don't want it to work," Matsuda accused, and I looked at him with interest, trying to decipher his meaning.

But Aizawa agreed, "You're god damn right I don't want it to work. If it were up to me, you wouldn't be working on this at all."

Matsuda simply gulped down another mouthful of whiskey.

As I watched him, I noticed a Subaru wagon parked across the street from the café, and though, for a moment, I thought nothing of it, I suddenly remembered seeing the exact same style of car outside Chiyuuda's clinic. Not wanting to give immediately into paranoia, I observed it a while, situated discreetly, but not _too_ discreetly, just at the corner, and so non-descript I failed to recognized even a single important detail, but I thought I could see the driver, still sitting inside, and I tried to think about how long it might have been sitting there, feeling sure it hadn't arrived until after I'd sat down. Squinting my eyes, I tried to get a fix on the plate number.

At that moment, Ide appeared over Aizawa's shoulder, having apparently hopped the patio fence. His tie and jacket were missing, he'd untucked his shirt, and his expression, normally cool and collected, hinted at fury. "I need to talk to you, Shuichi," he barked, before Aizawa even realized he was there.

Turning in his seat, the chief wrinkled his nose at Ide's unseemly appearance. Anymore, vain, narcissistic Ide rarely went around looking anything less than his best, let alone in a state of noticeable distress, and to see him thus disheveled set off the same red flags in my mind that seeing Aizawa's damaged hand had.

"Forensics is on site," he announced, tightly, though not loudly. "You owe me money for a cab."

"Why didn't you just ask someone to give you a ride?"

Ide closed his eyes, setting his jaw in an obvious attempt to stay calm. "I wasn't going to wait all day for them to finish. Can I talk to you? Or what?"

"Yeah, of course." Aizawa ashed his cigarette. "Sit down and get some lunch."

"I'm not in the mood for your patronizing shit," Ide snarled.

Matsuda looked up at him, interested, and I struggled to hide the look of surprise threatening to take over my face. It simply wasn't like him to speak so provocatively to Shuichi.

"All right," Aizawa snapped back, lurching to his feet, shoulders thrown in an aggressive stance, but he just gestured for Ide to walk ahead of him. "Let's go."

Practically stomping, Ide led the way across the patio, to a corner, where they stood, barely out of earshot, and I took a moment to study them, but within a matter of seconds, their conversation became noticeably heated, their faces dark with anger, Aizawa gesticulating wildly, while Ide clenched his fists and stood unnaturally stiff.

It had been some time since I'd seen the two of them honestly mad at one another, and it troubled me, but, if nothing else, it gave me the opportunity I'd wanted to talk alone with Matsuda.

Glancing one last time at the suspicious Subaru, I turned my full attention to him. "Well, Matsu…" It was hard to know how to handle him now, and I faltered.

Glassy-eyed, Matsuda looked up from his bowl to meet my gaze.

Wincing at the sight of his puffy face, I couldn't help saying, "Don't you think you should visit a doctor? Your gums could get infected."

"Oh. Yeah," he mumbled, like he'd just remembered something, and pulled out a pill bottle from his coat, fumbling with the childproof cap just long enough for me to read the label for penicillin.

"Wait a minute." I grabbed his wrist before he could take the pill. "Is it infected now?"

Matsuda shifted his jaw, painfully, exploring the inside of his mouth. "No. I guess not."

No wonder Aizawa thought he'd get killed trying to complete his directive. He'd gained so much drive and focus, and yet remained utterly inept, putting him at risk for running blindly into a dangerous situation without so much as the protective feelings of fear that might normally keep him from harm. "I wouldn't take that if you don't have to."

"Oh, yeah," he repeated, tonelessly, and slowly slipped the bottle back into his pocket."

My own concern was mounting, and I spent several moments studying him, while, in the background, Aizawa and Ide's voices climbed until I could almost hear what they were fighting about.

"You can't just ignore me! I've earned more than that!"

"I left you there because I trusted you to talk with forensics!"

More than Aizawa's broken hand, more than Ide's missing tie, their fight showed me how close they skirted now to utter collapse.

"Why won't you let us take you to a doctor?" I asked Matsuda.

"Aizawa thinks a doctor would try to admit me to the hospital. Like, forever."

Seriously, I nodded. "Probably, Matsuda. You're not exactly…well."

"Yeah, that's what he keeps saying. But he's rude about it." He took a swig of whiskey. "_You're out of your mind, Matsuda._" He laughed hollowly, following it up with a harsh wince.

"I wouldn't say you're out of your mind," I told him, but it merely seemed polite. Even if he wasn't ragingly insane, a psychological exam would likely rule on some technicality that Matsuda shouldn't be roaming loose in this condition, and there might indeed be grounds to commit him against his will.

The longer we were together, the surer I felt Near must be wrong. Aizawa hadn't conspired against me—he truly was trying to protect Matsuda—and Matsuda himself was simply being manipulated, yanked around, incapable of comprehending the situation, let alone altering it.

_Even if I can get the notebook back and return to Near, I can't leave him in this condition._

That thought felt strangely familiar.

Mind racing, I watched the Subaru across the street, trying to tell if the driver might indeed be sitting there, or if I'd imagined it.

Aizawa and Ide returned, each looking enraged, and Aizawa was just finishing saying, "Would you, for the love of God, cut me some goddamn slack?"

"You don't deserve any fucking slack," Ide sniped, and dropped into his chair, scowling immediately at Matsuda. "You. You look worse every time I see you."

I suppressed a groan. Ide in a bad mood was unpleasant to say the least; he refused to explain himself, and even if you guessed at what was wrong, he'd deny the truth, and what's worse, he had a tendency to lose control of his anger and take it out on anyone who dared speak to him.

"My face really hurts," Matsuda complained, in a careless tone, and took a large gulp of whiskey.

"Well, you're the dumb ass who had to go tearing out teeth after we told you not to. I don't feel sorry for you."

"Ide, knock it off," Aizawa muttered, massaging his temples.

"You really should see a doctor," I added, reaching over to nudge Matsuda.

"He won't do that," Ide announced, through a cloud of cigarette smoke. "And I don't blame him, seeing how his boss keeps threatening to lock him up."

"I'm not threatening him with anything," Aizawa protested.

"Yeah, well, I'm just saying, with you talking about how a doctor would probably never let him go, I don't blame him for not wanting to see one."

Aizawa looked furious. "What do you want? To trick him? It's the truth!"

"Sitting right here, guys," Matsuda muttered.

"So what?" Ide snarled at him. "It's not like you care."

But Matsuda frowned, and for a split second, I thought I did see a glimmer of irritation. "Shut up, Ide."

"You shut up. I'm the one who doesn't want to take you to the nut house."

"I'm not doing this with you," Aizawa snapped suddenly. "You'd better knock it off while I'm still giving you the option."

Such outrage lit Ide's stormy eyes, I expected he'd get up and stomp away—like he would have in his youth—but he stayed, glaring daggers at Aizawa.

Out of habit, I tried to catch Matsuda's eye, but he'd rested his head in his hands again, not seeming to care at all that they were fighting so vehemently, though, I knew, it would normally have made him extremely anxious. He'd always been a peacekeeper, and in a way I wasn't startled to find Aizawa and Ide ready to beat each other senseless after just a few days of his being altered. Aizawa had a guilt complex; Ide was terrible at managing his emotions, and, between them, they didn't seem to know a single healthy technique for expressing their feelings. Not having Matsuda to distract, cheer, or encourage them was clearly a hardship neither of them had ever anticipated.

_Getting him back is their priority,_ I told myself, _even if it shouldn't be._

Retrieving the death note, though, had to be mine.

With any luck, the two goals would coincide.

* * *

**Matsuda**

* * *

Aizawa and Ide bickered the rest of the time we were at the café. As we were leaving, Mogi suggested somebody ride with him, and I knew he meant Ide, specifically, but Ide insisted he wasn't about to leave me with Aizawa. They bitched at each other the whole way to my apartment, and they bitched at each other as we climbed the stairs.

"I can't believe you're this angry about my leaving you behind!" Aizawa shouted voice echoing through the concrete hall. "You'd think I'd never left you on site before!"

"Yeah, maybe after twenty years of you leaving me stranded whenever you feel like it I've just gotten sick of it."

"I didn't leave you stranded!"

"I had to take a cab all the way back into the city! Do you know how much that cost?"

"Is that what you're mad about? The money?"

"No. I'm not mad about the _money_."

"Yeah, sure. You didn't get to waste it on something stupid for once." Aizawa ripped his wallet out and shoved a handful of crumpled notes into Ide's hand. "Here! Wanna negotiate a raise while you're at it?"

Next to me, Mogi kept a perfectly stoic expression, but I was starting to feel dizzy, and the pounding in my head had gotten worse and worse all day. Their yelling really didn't help.

"It's not about the money!" Ide screamed suddenly. "You know it's not!"

"I can't read your goddamn mind! I have no idea what your problem is!"

"You son of a bitch—"

"Hey." I paused suddenly and turned to face them, leaning hard against the wall, and they both lurched to a stop, looking startled. "Would you guys cut it out?"

They scowled up at me.

"My head's killing me."

"Mine hurts too," Mogi announced quietly.

"You're both acting crazy," I added.

"You look like you're about to pass out," Ide accused.

"I doubt I can." I turned, slowly, hanging onto the railing, to continue on my way up the stairs. "With you guys making so much noise."

Finally, they settled into awkward silence, but I felt dizzier and dizzier with every step, trying to understand why the elevator hadn't been fixed yet, but it was just bad timing, I guessed, another thing I had no control over.

Confused by the thought, I rubbed my forehead. Throughout the day, the pain in my mouth had spread through the rest of my skull, into my eye sockets, ears, and even down my spine a little bit; my stomach growled relentlessly, but trying to get down a few bites of soup at lunch had proven to me that eating was just about impossible for now. Drinking the whiskey without food, though, left me feeling unsteady and nauseated. I wanted to sleep.

_Get the notebook. Get the notebook._

I was getting tired of that irresistible voice. Today, we hadn't gotten nearly as far as I'd wanted. Going back to Tero's torture chamber had stirred unexpectedly vivid and dark memories, but there was nothing there to help me figure out where to go next.

Golden Teeth, though, had the notebook, and I knew his license plate number.

_Get the notebook. Get the notebook. Get the notebook._

"How do we get the info from the plate number?" I asked, leading the way inside and waiting impatiently for the others to remove their shoes and line them up, politely, on either side of my door.

Aizawa and Ide exchanged a look, and Ide asked, "You mean you don't know?"

"I've never done anything like that before," I reminded them.

"Still?"

"Riki usually handles the paperwork."

"Right. Of course."

"One of us will have to go to the station tomorrow," Aizawa explained, crossing the living room and stretching his arms over his head like he was stiff and tired. "Run the plate."

"Tomorrow?" I echoed, watching the rest of them drift after him. "Why not right now?"

Mogi took a seat in front of the TV.

Aizawa retrieved one of the beers Ide bought last night. Studying me with a skeptical expression, he tried to twist the cap off, and then winced.

Ide snagged it from him, carefully, though, opened it and handed it back.

"We've got enough information to review for the night," Aizawa decided, finally.

"What? This little folder Mogi brought and the couple of pictures you guys took at the asylum?"

"I also committed to memory a lot of facts about the research itself," Mogi told me.

I widened my eyes at him. "So what?"

Ide opened my freezer and took his time digging through it. In a moment, he pulled out one of the ice packs I kept, just in case, and pressed it, uneventfully, to Aizawa's injured hand.

"Is it broken?"

"I can't tell."

"Can you hold your gun?"

"Of course."

"Do you want me to drive you to the ER?"

Aizawa jerked his head no.

"All right. Don't punch walls, idiot."

Mogi watched them with interest, but I rolled my eyes. "Guys? Hello?"

Ide finally answered, "If there's a way to get you back to normal, it'll be in that file." He grabbed a beer of his own and went into the living room to sit down and prop his feet up on my coffee table. "Mogi, I know you said you weren't supposed to take notes, but you should have."

"Stealing is stealing, Hideki," Aizawa reminded him impatiently.

"Oh, right, I forgot, you don't want to get Matsuda back the easy way."

Face collapsing back into rage, Aizawa bellowed, "What's _easy_ about—?"

Clasping a hand to my aching forehead, I interrupted, "None of that matters. We've got the license plate number for the guy I gave the notebook to."

Mogi stared hard at me, and then gave Aizawa an expectant look.

"We do," Aizawa agreed, still speaking from behind his teeth, "and that's great. But there's more to this case than simply getting the notebook back—you'll just have to try and understand that, Sergeant."

"Yeah, but the rest of it is just a distraction. We could have the death note back tonight, if you'd go run the plate number."

From the look on his face, he was getting very close to losing his patience completely, and again, he took a long pause to rub the bridge of his nose and take a few sips of beer. "Maybe," he agreed at last, "but we have no idea what we're up against, no idea what's really going on, no idea who's _really_ behind this, and there is way too much at risk to run in blind."

_Get the notebook…_

"The longer we wait, the more people are going to be killed," I reminded him.

Mogi and Ide nodded at each other, like they thought that was a good point—it was the kind of point I'd usually make anyway—and accepted it without question.

But Aizawa stared me in the eyes, thoughtfully, and then warned, "Don't try to manipulate me right now, kiddo—I'm not in the mood—and I know you don't give a damn about that. You just want to complete your directive."

_Get the notebook, get the notebook._

"Yeah," I agreed, "but you guys do care, and the longer we wait—"

"I know exactly what goes on while we wait. Every second we wait is another second you stand there being a psychological nightmare who'd rather mutilate himself than waste an afternoon in a dentist's office. I'd rather have you this way than dead completely, so we're going to review our information before we make any more moves. End of story."

"But we don't _all_ have to review the information," I argued. "One of us could—"

"Well, I'll consider that," he interrupted, sterner than ever. "Meanwhile, how about you sit down? Before you pass out."

With that, he plopped into my armchair, still clutching the ice pack and digging in his jacket for something he apparently didn't have before asking, "Who's got pen and paper? Mogi, I think we need to hear what you read in that file while it's still fresh in your mind. Ide, you better have been with forensics long enough to have learned something, or I'll really be pissed."

"I didn't get their report back yet," Ide sneered, "but yeah. I was there long enough to know all the DNA they found was probably Matsuda's."

I lingered at the back of the couch, thinking it wouldn't do me much good to sit down and help them sort through their meaningless information—they were trying to solve a different puzzle than I was—and then I studied my door again, wondering how difficult it would be to slip out while they were preoccupied. I still remembered the plate number—I could go to the station and get somebody to help me run it, and then go after Golden Teeth myself. I didn't need Aizawa and the others to help me complete my directive.

"Don't even think about it, Matsuda," Aizawa growled, glaring up at me.

Maybe not the best idea. I was so dizzy, he'd probably jump on me before I could even reach for the doorknob. Later, though, when I felt better.

Rubbing my forehead again, I set out for my bedroom hall instead.

Ide yelled after me, "Get some sleep!"

Sleep was a waste of time—with so much wrong with me, I doubted it would refresh me at all—especially when the answer to completing my directive might be hidden in the plate number, but lying down for a while sounded good.

Low light flooded my bedroom as the sun started to set, and I'd left the window cracked, letting the curtains drift in the chilly breeze. Like always, scents of fresh laundry and fabric softener—one of my favorite smells in the world—hung in the air, and everything was tidy, except for the bed itself, where the blankets lay in a heap and the pillows looked like they'd been tossed around.

I stopped in the doorway to stare at it, trying to remember the last time I'd left this room without making my bed, but I hated coming home to a messed up bed; during the Kira case, sometimes the only comfort I'd had was to get back to find it perfectly made.

_Something…is really wrong…_ the strange voice in me whispered, but as I studied the bed, I didn't feel aggravated or anxious over the fact that it wasn't made. It didn't matter any more than everything else going on.

_This is so wrong._ I flopped face down, wincing as my bruised and swollen face hit the pillow. _I'm not even sure what it is exactly._

Not having feelings. Sure. There was something pretty messed up about that, I guessed, but I couldn't really see why.

Automatically, my tongue explored the ragged gaps in my mouth, feeling the disconcerting shapes of sutures and scabbing, holding my swollen gums together.

Ripping teeth out of my mouth. That was pretty disturbing, if I tried to look at it from an objective perspective. I could at least understand why Aizawa, Ide, and Mogi were so worried about it. It could dry socket or get infected. But that GPS had been in my way. What else was I supposed to do? Wait?

_ Get the notebook…_

Out in the living room, I heard the others discussing facts, hashing details over, arguing back and forth mildly about what everything meant. Plenty of times, while working on the Kira case, I'd curled up on the couch and fallen asleep to the sound of those three people hammering through the evidence again and again, and even though sometimes it had felt like the world was falling apart, that had always made me feel safe.

Not caring about my friends… Maybe that was the strangest part.

Just a few nights ago, I'd been sitting in the ER with Aizawa and Ide, listening to them figure out my personal information, draped in Aizawa's jacket, trying to block out horrors I couldn't even guess at, and thinking of what a relief it was to have them there with me.

And now they didn't mean anything to me; I couldn't even rationalize my way through that one. I looked at them, fully capable of seeing that they cared about me, fully aware that I should care too, but I just didn't.

_I don't know if there's a hole inside me where everything got taken out, or if it's all still in there, somewhere I can't get to it._

_ Get the notebook…_

_ I don't even care._

Past the endless screaming for the notebook, though, something else stirred, and as I shut my eyes and listened to the others in the living room, I sincerely hoped they'd be able to complete their objective, just as long as it didn't interfere with mine.

_Long and black, the hall stretches in front of me, silent, except for the sounds of my shoes scraping against concrete or shifting through shallow puddles, and I hold the gun steady in my hand, cold, but familiar._

_ Inside, a voice screams, kill, kill, kill! I have to do what it says._

_ I can barely see what's ahead of me, but in a narrow space like this one, I don't need to be able to see. A kill shot will be easy._

_ Kill, kill, kill._

_ What little I can see is blurry. Pain blazes through my tooth, and I still can hear the whine of the drill and Tero's voice saying gently, "This is really going to hurt," but none of that is nearly as loud as the sound of my own screaming._

_ Ahead of me, a man pops out from around the corner, and I raise my pistol instinctively. He sees me, and his hands jump up. "Don't shoot!" I catch a glimpse of the red K on his jacket, not so different from the one carved forever into my arm._

_ Deep in the recesses of my memory, Aizawa's voice says, "We can't arrest people for wearing a jacket—we need more."_

_ But I squeeze the trigger, and the man in the jacket staggers back, grasping his chest and gurgling._

_ Emotionlessly, I stand over him, watching him writhe and beg through tears, "Please don't kill me. Please don't kill me."_

_ Kill, kill, kill!_

_ Aiming for his head this time, I squeeze again, and the silence returns._

_ I step over the body and continue on my way._

_ "One down. Two to go."_

Groaning, and wincing, I rolled onto my back. The pain in my head and mouth felt worse than ever, like my brain had swollen, and I automatically groped around on the mattress, mumbling, "Sayu…"

The bed was empty, though, other than me, and I sat up a while, studying the vacant space and wondering why I'd even want her. She couldn't help.

Around me, the room was dark—the sun must have gone down a long time ago—and even though soft light glowed from beyond my bedroom door, everything was quiet.

_This is familiar_, I thought, climbing out of bed and clutching my left forearm.

The day Hiro Miyami put that scar there, I'd woken up, just like this, except on that day, I'd been sick and afraid, not wanting ever leave the safety of my apartment again.

Stepping through the door, I ran my fingers lightly along the sage walls and paused at the breakfast bar to touch the dead leaves of my bamboo stalk. In the kitchen, someone had left the stove light on. All of it was familiar—things I'd seen every day for years—but I didn't feel glad or comforted by any of it. Not like the day when Miyami cut me; I'd come home and looked around my apartment, feeling like I could collapse from the relief of being there, and I'd only left because I'd thought Sayu needed me. Now I couldn't even remember how it felt to love her.

But I woke up calling for her, and that didn't make sense.

_Get the notebook…_

In the living room, the others had called it a night. Mogi reclined in my arm chair, and Ide leaned heavily over the arm rest on the couch, but Aizawa was missing.

Carefully, I scanned the room for him, seriously doubting he'd leave, but he was nowhere to be seen. Maybe Eriko had talked him into going home after all.

Anyway, the clock said one am, but I still wore my shoes and now-rumpled suit; someone must be at the station. I hadn't meant to fall asleep, but there was no reason I shouldn't go run the license plate number while I had the chance. Quietly but quickly, I strode for the door and eased it open, keeping in mind the noisy hinge.

A heavy hand swept past my head, shoving the door shut again, and right by my ear, Aizawa's black voice asked, "What do you think you're doing?"

"Getting some air," I lied automatically.

"You've got a balcony."

I'd never been very good at lying to him.

I faced him slowly, searching his eyes, but he just looked tired and aggravated, the way he had all day, reminding me of the way he'd broken down at the asylum, and how hysterical he'd become when his wife called him.

_Get the notebook, get the notebook, get the notebook._

"I already told you," he growled. "Tomorrow we'll—"

I clocked him, smashing my knuckles against his blocky jaw, and as he stumbled back, arms flailing, I spun on my heel and bolted through the door, dashing down the stairs. Earlier, I'd gotten ahead of him and Ide without even trying. Intentionally running away from him would be easy.

But on the first step, my knees buckled, and my head spun so bad I could hardly see straight. I'd underestimated how dizzy I still felt, and the blood in my head pounded.

_Get the notebook._

Behind me, I heard him clatter through the door, roaring my name, and then his footsteps hammered after me.

Down through the whole building, we ran like that, me struggling to keep my balance, him yelling and cursing, getting closer with every step.

I searched my pockets for my car keys, but I still didn't have them. I still didn't have my _car._ Driving his was out of the question. Oh well. I'd run all the way to the station if I had to. Out on the street, Aizawa would fall behind, giving me a chance to hail a cab or jump on a bus.

Off the stairs, I sprang into the lobby, sprinting for the door, and he landed hard, right at my heels, fingers grazing my elbow. I threw myself against the exit, bolting out into the damp night.

"Matsuda!"

He slammed against me, throwing his arms around my waist. For the second time that day, we flopped on the ground together. The blow of falling knocked the wind out of me and sent an agonizing jolt through my bruised ribs. While I gasped and writhed through the pain, he twisted one arm behind my back and braced his knee on my spine, and I knew it was over. In a race, I could beat him. Maybe in a fight, I could beat him. But like this, on the ground, there was no way for me to overcome his superior size. I rested my swollen cheek on the freezing, wet concrete.

He screamed, "Why are you so against me helping you? All the time!"

_Some help,_ I thought, as his weight pressed me into the sidewalk.

"You think you're tough now? Out of nowhere? You're not! If you go off on your own, you'll die!"

"Get off me," I panted.

He stood up, heaving me to my feet with the experience of someone who'd arrested dozens of people, and released my wrist to grasp a handful of my jacket collar, and then roughly jerked me around to face his flashing eyes and now-bleeding mouth. "You're so goddamn smart now—use your head! Am I supposed to look the other way while you go off and get killed just because your mind is all screwed up?"

"I get that you feel guilty—"

"Don't talk to me about how I feel!" he bellowed. "You bet your dumb ass I feel guilty over this! So what?"

I stared up at him, thinking maybe I should hit him again. The last blow had been light, but if I really let him have it, I could get away.

"After everything we've been through, I can't believe you actually think I'd do all this to ease my conscience!"

"No," I agreed, "but I don't have time to think about your feelings."

"We're going to run the license plate tomorrow!" he shouted in my face, louder than ever. "And guess what? That's not going to crack the case! A damn plate number never cracks the case!"

That was probably true. Even if it helped me get further, I wasn't going to know immediately where to go to get the notebook, let alone what to do with it.

After we'd spent a few moments frowning into each other's eyes, he snarled, quieter, "If I thought you'd come back, I'd let you go run the plate, but even you can't think it's a good idea for you to be on your own right now!"

I honestly hadn't considered that. I'd known I had to complete my directive whether anyone helped me or not, and I'd assumed Aizawa and Ide would help me. That had been the end of that train of thought.

"You're being impulsive," he informed me, angrily, "like always. Hell, just look what you've done to yourself! You can barely eat or sleep. How are you supposed to accomplish _anything _like this, Touta?"

I didn't have an answer for that either. At the time, getting the GPS out of my mouth had seemed like the only way to continue forward, but I hadn't thought about everything that would come of it, or how physically sick it would leave me.

"I don't think you get it," I announced suddenly. "Surviving isn't on my list of goals."

Bushy eyebrows dropped low over his eyes. "You told us you don't want to die."

"I don't want to die. But if I _have_ to die to complete my directive, I will."

To that, he bared his teeth, looking all the more furious.

"I know that's like…the antithesis of what you want, but I can't help that."

"You need to listen to me." He jabbed me in the chest with a finger, voice trembling with quiet rage. "Maybe it doesn't matter to you if you get back to normal, but if there's any part of you that understands—reallyunderstands—that that's all I'm trying to do, you need to start doing what I tell you. You're going to get yourself killed before you _can_ complete your directive, and I don't think that's because you've been programmed to find the notebook. I think that's because you're the same reckless moron you've always been."

Another interesting point. I wondered suddenly how he or one of the others would act if they'd been programmed, but I realized he was right. None of them would handle the directive this way.

_Something…is really wrong…_

On my own, getting the notebook back seemed like the only thing that mattered, the only possible way for me to even begin to find a way back to normal. Again it occurred to me that, even though we were trying to solve two separate cases, our goals might overlap in the end. I wanted them to.

_Is that a feeling?_

No, it just made sense. No logical person would want to spend their life this way.

_Get the notebook. Get the notebook…_

_ Let Ai fix you…_

Looking at the pained expression on his serious face, I knew that was all that mattered to him.

"Why are you like this?" I wondered suddenly. "I always thought I drove you crazy."

"What?" he huffed under his breath. "You care?"

Truthfully, I said, "If I cared, I wouldn't ask." Normal, silly, stupid Matsuda would be too insecure to ask something like that. He wouldn't want Aizawa to know it mattered or for him to think he was weak. He'd wanted his respect too badly.

The way he studied me, though, I doubted Aizawa would tell me the truth anyway. He always had to be tough, and admitting to his personal feelings had never aligned with that facade.

To my surprise, he sighed, "C'mon, Touta. Really? We saw each other almost every day for six years. I'm a human being." Taking another, harsher sigh, he scraped his fingers over the top of his skull. "You do drive me crazy. But…you're my little buddy."

Even though the words caught me off guard, they didn't evoke the embarrassment, happiness, or warmth they should have, and I just stood there feeling numb.

Aizawa shrugged. "I thought you knew that."

"Yeah," I said, hollowly. "Not really."

"You're so dense," he grumbled, pulling me toward the door.

In the past, I'd always been caught up in what I felt, my own worries about how they must see me, to really have a clear understanding of what they might honestly think.

"I felt the same way," I admitted, as we went inside. It was easier now, without any real feelings to get in the way. "I always respected you. But after six years, I thought we were friends. That's dumb, huh? We were only supposed to work a case together."

"Believe me, I wouldn't be doing any of this if we weren't friends."

That made sense. Only a sociopath like Light could spend six years working every day with someone and not feel anything.

_I don't feel anything. Am I a sociopath now, too?_

_ Get the notebook…_

Going back up the stairs was exhausting, and by the time we reached my apartment again, I realized it would have been idiotic to try and jog all the way to the station. I wouldn't have made it, whether my directive hinged on it or not. I was more than ready to go back to bed.

But at the door, Aizawa suddenly blocked my way and looked at me, all the more seriously. "Hey…"

"Yeah."

He glanced away, unable to meet my gaze as he muttered, "You…were screaming in your sleep."

"I was?"

"A lot." He chanced an uncertain glance at me before turning away again. "What were you dreaming about?"

For the first time since I'd gotten up, I thought about the dream I'd had and realized it was a memory.

"Oh. I think I figured something out."

Questioningly, he faced me. "While you were asleep?"

"Maybe. I don't know if it'll get us anywhere yet, but we should go see if we can get in touch with the Shinigami syndicate."

Aizawa frowned. "I think that's a bad idea."

"You know how to find them, though, right?"

"Yeah. At least, Ide probably does."

So Ide was the one who'd been working on rounding them up. No wonder he'd been so tight-lipped about all his projects lately.

"That doesn't answer my question," Aizawa said.

I shook my head.

Next, he prompted, "People don't usually scream in their sleep unless they're afraid."

Standing back, I thought about it, but it had only been a dream—at best, a memory—but judging by what I'd seen and felt, it suddenly occurred to me that Tero might have programmed me to kill those three people Boko had talked about.

If the dream of a memory of something I'd been programmed to do made me scream in my sleep…

_Something is really wrong…_

"Right," I agreed quietly. "I guess that means…

_Somewhere, beneath all this, I am really afraid…_

Awake, conscious of my directive, the voice muffled that fear, downsizing it to more of an abstract thought than a true emotion, and I knew if I told him it was there at all, he'd go crazy trying to reach that part of me.

"I don't know, Aizawa," I muttered at last. "I just need to get the notebook."


	14. Chapter 14

**Ide**

"I'm really ready to go home," I complained, splashing cold water on my face, but after spending yet another night on someone else's couch, I felt stiff, unable to blink away the tired, dry feeling in my eyes.

Staying here like this was beginning to remind me too much of how it had been to grow up in a house full of brothers, fighting over space, food, and beer, taking all our pent-up frustration out on each other. I felt the atmosphere and tension chipping away at my composure; normally, I'd be long gone by now, phone turned off, inaccessible for days until I got my head on straight again.

Waiting his turn at the bathroom door, Matsuda suggested, "So go home." At least his way of oversimplifying things hadn't changed.

I'd always liked that about him; it made him easy to talk to, and in a life teeming with murky, impossible choices, Matsuda's decisiveness had lent me clarity, from time to time.

Now it just annoyed me that he couldn't grasp the true nature of the situation, and that none of the things that bothered me so much had even crossed his mind.

If Aizawa could commit him, he would have done it by now—he seemed serious enough about it—and I was afraid that, if he managed it, we'd never get Matsuda back. Looking at him now, though, it was equally hard to believe he could continue to run loose like this. Normally fluffy and neat, his hair hung lankly in his face, his eyes looked bloodshot, I saw stubble on his jaw, and it even looked like he was breaking out. Dirt clotted under the few fingernails he had left.

Even if Aizawa didn't plan to drag him to the hospital the second I turned my back, I'd decided that, whatever happened next, I'd be there with him, to watch his back, and this time, I wasn't changing my mind.

Patting my face dry with a towel, I stepped past him. "Take a shower, Sarge. You're starting to smell."

For as long as I'd known him, Matsuda had been neurotic about his hygiene. During the Kira investigation, while we'd been holed up at headquarters and various hotel rooms, he'd been the least likely to skip bathing or shaving. But he joined me only a couple minutes later, same wreck, wearing a suit without a tie, so that habit must have been connected to his emotions as well, possibly tied into his desire to impress.

I couldn't help frowning at him. Our word had always been law to him, and if we couldn't even convince him to do basic things, like take care of himself, I didn't see how we had any hope at all of controlling him through the rest of this investigation.

And yet, Aizawa thought I was the idiot for thinking the best we could do was stay close to him and try to keep him from dying.

In the living room, I blinked at the harsh, morning light and rubbed my eyes, seriously thinking of buying Matsuda a pair of curtains for his balcony. Like always, that maddening draft swept through the open area, and I could hardly believe he happily lived in such an uncomfortable place, but no one else seemed to notice, and I wouldn't dare whine at this point.

The smell of cooking eggs filled the apartment, and I paused at the breakfast bar to watch Mogi whip up a few rolled omelets, while Aizawa paced through the living room.

Aizawa pacing had never been a welcome sight, and after fighting with him most of yesterday and then struggling to share the couch with him last night, I felt annoyed the second I saw him wearing a track around Matsuda's coffee table. Last night, I'd wrapped his hand with a support bandage, whatever that was worth, and found him some aspirin, but he'd only kicked me in the ribs ten thousand times, tossing and turning. If he hadn't slept well, he'd be in a worse mood than ever, and I was getting too frazzled and drained to deal with that.

"What's next on the agenda?" I asked, sitting down at the breakfast bar, where Mogi immediately passed me a cup of coffee, pale with cream and sugar. I took my time to savor it; one good thing about being here, Matsuda bought the best coffee.

"We have the plate number to follow up on and Mogi's security footage to review," Aizawa muttered. "The footage will take a while. Depending on what the plate tells us…" He paused to stare out the balcony, troubled by the dawning of a new day, and heaved a sigh. "That could also take all day."

This was taking much too long already, but I suppressed a sigh of my own and checked my phone for the first time in what must have been days. A text from Kei waited on the home screen: Anata I messed up.

I swiped to the message screen, but she hadn't explained, and I didn't have time to ask. Knowing Kei, it was probably something dumb anyway, like sorting her trash wrong again.

"There are four of us," I said, putting my phone away again. "Teams?"

Reluctantly, Aizawa nodded. "I'd rather not split up… But I guess."

I understood his reluctance at least. He'd obviously want to keep Matsuda with him, and he knew I had my reservations about leaving the two of them alone, but it wouldn't be fair to ask Mogi to take on half the investigation on all by himself.

That was his problem, not mine, and I steeled my resolve, telling myself, again, that I had to watch the kid's back.

"I need to go check out the Shinigami syndicate," Matsuda announced, like it was something everyone should already know, and we both craned our necks around to stare at him; in the kitchen, Mogi paused to look up from watering the ailing bamboo.

"What the hell for?" I asked, getting out my pack of cigarettes.

But Aizawa sighed again, "Matsuda… Ide and I already questioned a bunch of their members in lock-up. They don't have anything to do with this."

"Yeah, but obviously they do if I killed a few of them."

I nearly dropped the cigarette I'd gotten halfway to my mouth. "You think you really did that?"

He shrugged. "Boko said my DNA and standard issue was there."

"_You_ said you don't remember doing that."

"I do now, kinda." He wrinkled his nose, thoughtfully.

"_Kinda_ doesn't mean much."

Mogi set out several plates of food and studied Matsuda. "Talking to survivors would confirm whether or not you were there. But that's all."

"And that's a big maybe," Aizawa added impatiently, though he looked stricken. "If there weren't any witnesses, it won't help us."

"It seems like a major distraction," I agreed, finally lighting my cigarette. "From the real objective, I mean."

"Hideki," Aizawa admonished, in the same tone he'd used for the last twenty years when he'd nearly run out of patience for me. "Put that out. We're eating."

But I was almost out of patience for him too, and I argued, "No one is eating yet."

"We're in Matsuda's apartment."

"Matsuda doesn't care—"

Leaning down abruptly, he jerked the cigarette from my mouth and tossed it, uneventfully, into the kitchen sink. "I said knock it off."

I glared up at him, and he frowned down at me, daring me to argue.

Mogi took the butt from the sink, put it out, carefully, and disposed of it. For a moment, awkward silence ruled the apartment.

"You owe me one," I muttered at last, putting my pack away. I'd have to find some other way to manage the anxiety simmering in me.

Mogi decided, "Now isn't the best time to start investigating the syndicate."

"Except I didn't kill them because I wanted to." Matsuda glanced interestedly between Aizawa and I, waiting to see if we'd fight. "If I was programmed to, the guys who took the notebook might be one of them. So I think it's at least worth looking into. What do you think, Ide?"

Still glaring at Aizawa, I muttered, "It's a big syndicate, and they're scattered. Some of them were deeply involved in the Reaper's plot, some have joined since he died. Others probably have no idea what they've gotten into and just like the jackets. Some have guns. Some don't. It's been hard to distinguish who's who, let alone to figure out where the key members hang out."

"You do know, though, right? You've been investigating them all year."

Finally, I took my eyes off Aizawa to glance at the kid, wondering if he'd been told that or just guessed.

Expectantly, he watched me, and there was no point in trying to deny it.

"Of course I know." I popped half an omelet in my mouth. "I've been very thorough."

My attention to detail and the secrecy of my assignment was supposed to keep him safe, but he might be right—they could be involved—which would mean an oversight of mine had led him to this wretched state.

Aizawa had told the Reaper about the shinigami in the end, as a measure of distraction and desperation; it was possible someone had overheard, and _that_ wasn't _my_ oversight.

But then, as Matsuda kept saying, the kidnappers hadn't seemed to know about the notebook until they'd beat it out of him.

"I need to go talk to them," he insisted.

"These guys don't want to _talk_ to the man who shot Kira," I told him, firmly. "They want you dead."

That was the same, from the bottom up. Even the kids who'd joined just to get a jacket knew—Touta Matsuda needed to die so that what they viewed as some form of anarcho-communism could be instituted in place of the _evil_ government and police forces. Low level syndicate members might not have the guts to take him out, but if we ran into hardcore members—Kira fanatics—they'd at least be willing to try.

Nodding, Matsuda said simply, "I didn't forget."

"It's dangerous," Aizawa amended. "You can't just walk into their hideout and expect to have a chat and then leave."

"They might have the notebook," Matsuda told him, stubbornly.

And then Mogi agreed, "It's worth looking into."

"I cannot believe this," Aizawa grumbled, dipping his head to rub ferociously at the bridge of his nose. As best I could tell, he'd had a headache for the last three days.

"What about your precious license plate number?" I asked suddenly. "Last night, that's all you could think about."

"Right," Matsuda murmured. "I need that too." And then a cloudy look of what was almost frustration darkened his eyes.

"You can't do it all, Matsuda," Aizawa informed him. "Look, you and I will go run the plate number—apparently you need to learn that anyway—while Ide and Mogi go look into the syndicate. By the end of the day, we should have _something_ to go off of."

But Matsuda shook his head. "I'm going in person. You run the plate while I'm gone."

More than stubbornness or defiance had crept into his tone; he'd just told Chief what to do, and that wasn't lost on Aizawa. His skeptical brow shot up, but his lips parted and curled, lending a look of bewilderment to his anger that I might have laughed at if the situation weren't so dire.

Still, it was getting interesting to see him fail, again and again, to rein in a subordinate who wouldn't listen and, essentially, couldn't be disciplined.

"I'm doing what now?" he demanded, icily. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize I was following your orders, Sergeant_._"

"I guess it's more like a suggestion," Matsuda corrected, with a faint smile, which he apparently made just to remind us he didn't care.

"You run the plate while I'm gone is _not_ a suggestion." Aizawa threw his hands up in familiar outrage. "Anyway, _no_. I've changed my mind. We have more than enough to work with right now. _If_ the syndicate is involved, the trail of evidence will lead us to them. We are not stretching ourselves thin to look into things that may not be relevant."

"I've got memories to recover," Matsuda announced in a unconcerned tone, and strode for the door. "Near thinks that's the key to all this, right, Mogi?"

Uncomfortably, Mogi shifted.

"So maybe visiting the syndicate will jog something. It would be stupid to miss that kind of opportunity."

"Matsuda!" Aizawa bounded after him. "What's _stupid _is to go looking for people who want you dead!"

"Yeah." Matsuda picked up his pistol, popped out the magazine to check his rounds and then racked back to peer into the chamber. I could hardly believe we were letting him carry that around, but when I'd brought it up yesterday morning, Aizawa had grumbled, "You're welcome to try and take it from him."

Matsu would probably shoot me.

"I'm not too worried about that," Matsuda announced, slamming the clip into the well.

"You're not worried about _anything_!" Aizawa exploded, letting his emotions carry him away like always. "That doesn't mean it's okay! No. _No!_ Absolutely not!"

I called out, "You don't even know where to look."

"I've spent the last nine months going undercover," Matsuda reminded us. "I'm sure I'll figure it out."

It might take him days, but he was determined to try. Eventually, he would find them.

I got up from my chair. "Hell. I'll just show you where they are."

Aizawa whipped around to stare at me like I'd stabbed him in the back. "Ide!"

"What? He's going to go, whether one of us is with him or not."

"He's not going!"

"Yeah?" I jerked my head at Matsuda, who was already slipping into his shoes and coat. "How're you gonna stop him? Throw him in cuffs?"

Speechless, he glared around from one of us to the next, so frustrated and angry he was shaking.

"I'll look out for him." I put my hand on his shoulder.

Immediately, he knocked it away.

I stared at him. He'd never pushed me off like that, no matter how angry he was. "What?" I huffed. "Don't you trust me?"

"You're the one who acts like you don't trust _me_, Hideki," he growled quietly.

"Your emotions are running this investigation."

"But _you've_ been completely collected this whole time." He bit every word off, acidic gaze boring into me.

"Mogi, I'm borrowing your rental, 'kay?" Matsuda called, jingling the keys.

"Oh," Mogi uttered.

With that, Matsuda was out the door. Aizawa continued to stare me down like I'd betrayed him.

"Later," I said under my breath, and hurried after the kid, trying to ignore the twisted, guilty way that expression left me feeling.

Convincing Matsuda to let me drive was a chore—he really didn't seem to trust us to help him at all—but I reminded him that I knew where we were going, and then he relented.

There was a lot of that mistrust going around. I just couldn't believe Shuichi thought I didn't trust him. What could he be thinking? Of course, I trusted him.

I put my window part way down and switched from Mogi's talk radio to something with a fast tempo, hoping the cool air would clear my head and the sounds of hard rock would distract me.

"Ugh." Matsuda wrinkled his nose immediately. "Dir En Grey?"

"Girugamesh."

"Even worse. You actually like this stuff?"

"Just be glad it's not Church of Misery. Or something Scandinavian."

Some scandi metal sounded good right now. Something thrashy and violent to express the frustration and outrage I couldn't seem to ever voice.

"Ugh," he said again.

Aizawa had always hated my music too; even when we were young, compromising on the radio had been next to impossible.

He couldn't actually think I didn't trust him. Would I follow him everywhere, would I do anything he said, would I back him up, without question, if I didn't trust him?

I tried to back him up this morning, but what was I supposed to do? Let Matsuda fall into harm's way all because Shuichi had said no on something?

Not wanting to think about him, I said, "Change it to whatever you want." Nothing was further from Aizawa than the trashy pop music Matsuda liked.

But he left the radio alone. "You're getting too old to listen to stuff like this."

It smacked of what Aizawa had told me yesterday about getting too old to eat sugar, and I rolled my eyes. "I guess you're going to tell me I'm too old to listen to KISS and Judas Priest next."

Again, he wrinkled his nose. "Nobody should be listening to crap like that."

"How can you even say that? Those bands are classic."

"No wonder Kei likes you," he muttered.

"Kei barely knows who KISS and Judas Priest are."

"They're American, though, right?"

"Judas isn't. Anyway, Kei is twenty-six years old."

Dammit, I didn't want to think about Kei either, not how I hadn't seen her, not that I still hadn't gotten a chance to text her back or even find out what her big screw up had been. Only a couple days had passed since I'd seen her, and damn, I missed her. Just now, she seemed to be the only part of my life that made any sense.

_It won't stay this way, though. We'll fix it, and everything will go back to normal._

I had to do my part to make that happen.

I turned the music down. It wasn't helping anyway. "Hey, we are going somewhere dangerous, you know?"

"Blast your garbage music in the parking lot, and they'll probably tell us whatever we want to know just to get us to go away."

"Maybe if we played _your_ music. Anyway, the point is… Are you going to listen to me? Or are you going to keep being impossible?"

"I don't mind listening to you as long as it doesn't interfere with my directive."

We had to stop at a light, so I took my eyes off the road to study him, and I couldn't help saying, "_Aizawa_ is trying to help with your directive. You won't listen to him."

"You're not listening to him either." He tilted his head at me, curiously. "What's with that?"

"That's different."

"Right. I've never seen you ignore him before."

"I'm not _ignoring _him." Again, Shuichi's disbelieving, almost hurt expression came back to me, but I pushed it away.

So I didn't do what he wanted just this one time. It was rude enough he'd left me behind yesterday, and I'd still done that. He had nothing to complain about. I always did what he said, because I trusted him. This was just different. He'd understand that, if he thought about it a little while. We'd be fine.

Matsuda suddenly turned an interested gaze on me. "What's it like, anyway?"

"What's what like?" I huffed, taking a harsh drag on my cigarette.

"Being in love with your best friend."

For a moment, the words barely made sense, and then I wasn't sure I'd heard them. My face heated up, though, and my heart skipped a beat.

"What the fuck?" I exploded. "I'm trying to help you, jackass! If you're just going to make fun of me, I'll leave you right here on the curb, and you can walk your happy ass to the Shinigami hideout!"

His eyes widened with every word. "So, it's terrible, right?"

"Matsuda!" I couldn't help punching him in the shoulder, and he barely grunted. "I am not in love with that prick. How could anyone fall in love with such a…"

I bit my tongue. There just wasn't anything really bad to say about my best friend, even when I was mad at him.

_I don't want to be mad at him._

Fighting with Shuichi had always been the worst thing ever. I hated to disappoint him, I couldn't stand to let him down, feeling like I couldn't trust him made the world look twice as dark as usual, and knowing he might not trust me was even worse. If I couldn't fix that, I might lose him, and it was bad enough that Matsuda was already lost.

Yesterday, when he'd left me on site, I hadn't known what to do other than to sit down on the hill and stare at the asylum where they'd detained Matsuda, thinking about that room, chainsmoking as I imagined all the horrible things he might have been through until I felt close to the edge of breaking down.

And then, when forensics finally arrived, I'd had to put on a brave face, lead them all the way back through that terrible building, choking on dust and mold, alone this time, to that torture chamber, and look around, for the second time, at the blood and obscene words on the walls, the not-so-subtle hints of violence, and watch some investigator I didn't know pick up his tooth and put it in an evidence bag. It was horrible. Aizawa was selfish to act like he was the only one who'd been upset to see those things; just because I didn't go breaking my own hand against a wall didn't mean I wasn't bothered.

_You just left me in that awful place… You're not even sorry._

More than I'd felt hurt though, I hadn't been able to escape the feeling of wishing he was with me, and then the fact that he wasn't, and the unconcerned way he'd responded to my distress hurt worse than anything else. I felt abandoned.

For all that, though, he was still Shuichi, and I didn't want to even think about life without him.

"You're not funny," I growled, finally. "Stay focused."

"I am focused." Leaning his swollen cheek into his hand, Matsuda gazed out the window. "You're the one who brought him up."

I had. Dammit.

"The point," I tried again, as the light changed and I pulled forward, "is he'll kill me if something happens. I'm not going to compromise your directive; and I'm not going to let you do anything dumb, but I need you to do what I tell you Understand?"

"Sure, Taniki-tan," he agreed, unbothered. "As long as it gets me closer to the notebook, I'll do whatever you want."

I tried to believe that. After all, just because he'd disregarded what we'd said about showering, leaving his teeth alone, and not running off by himself didn't mean he'd ignore me when we got behind enemy lines.

More importantly, I had to shut out these nagging, irritating feelings and get my head in the game.

Reaching our destination didn't take long; it was just a little, forgotten club in Kabukicho, and from the look of it, they wouldn't mind my music at all, but I parked down the street and kept my eyes open as I led the way to the entrance.

"This place?" Matsuda asked. "It doesn't even look like it's open."

"That's the point." Between scanning the area, I glanced him over. He'd mentioned going undercover, but at the moment, neither of us were going to fit in, and there wasn't time to act clueless anyway. "Most of the people I've observed coming and going at this location have been pretty low-level—kids who just want to fit in."

"That doesn't sound helpful," he complained, and then frowned at me with unfamiliar distrust, but his puffy cheeks made him look less than intimidating. Like a suspicious chipmunk. "You didn't bring me here just to distract me, did you?"

"Distract you from _what_? The case that'll determine the outcome of your life? No, Matsuda."

"I seriously doubt I was programmed to shoot kids who just want to fit in…"

The idea of Matsuda shooting _anyone_ because he'd been programmed to made my blood run cold, and I sincerely hoped that coming here would at least clear his name of that. I hadn't forgotten that Aizawa had staked his reputation on Matsuda's innocence either, and it felt like all of us were getting dangerously close to falling over the edge of a cliff.

"At this point? Who knows? Anyway, you were bragging about doing this for the last nine months—I thought you knew how it worked."

He hesitated to study the building and take a long, careful look around, adjusting his jacket to make sure his weapon stayed hidden. "Whoever's in charge is upper-level, then, right?"

"I was working on figuring that out when you got kidnapped—obviously, I've had to put it on hold—but yeah, that's what I think. The man who owns it bought it a little less than a year ago and hasn't put much effort into fixing it up, other than making sure it complies with codes. I never determined whether or not he's actually involved with the syndicate, but there's evidence to suggest that he is."

"If he's letting a bunch of gang members hang out at his place, I guess that makes sense."

I drew a slight breath and glanced up and down the street, but this block was pretty empty. "If we screw this up, my investigation will be shot. Square one. You understand?"

He nodded.

"Your little syndicate is like a cancer. People hear the good name of Kira and want to join, even if it _is_ just to fit in. It's been really hard to pinpoint what is actually going on, never mind shutting it all down, and if I lose this lead, that'll make it all the harder."

Seriously, he turned to me. "So why'd you bring me here?"

"Because…" I frowned. "What? This was _your_ idea."

"Sure, but you could have let me wander around, trying to track the syndicate down on my own; for all you know, the three of you might have found the notebook while I was busy."

"Maybe." Apparently, he really didn't comprehend that none of us were eager to let him out of our sight.

In the grand scheme of things, shutting down a dangerous syndicate was much more worthwhile than saving the mind of one cop, except this was Matsuda, and Aizawa wasn't the only one letting his feelings get the better of him.

_Besides, I promised myself I wouldn't lose him._

"We have to get the notebook back," I told him, knowing he'd latch onto that.

Accordingly, Matsuda nodded and started forward again.

At the door, a fat bouncer stopped us, his unibrow giving him a permanent look of aggressive stupidity, and his puffy lips frowned, showing he had no intention of letting two clean cut jobs like us in.

"We're here to see Uko-san," I told him at once, and then the unibrow lifted a bit, as if to ask, _how do _you_ know Uko-san_?

One pudgy finger pointed to the security camera above his head, and then, when I'd been staring into it a moment, a buzzer sounded off, and he shoved the door open.

_This isn't the way I should be doing this_, I thought, leading the way into the dim club. Even if Uko _was_ part of the Reaper's original syndicate, that just meant he was a cop-killer, or, at least, complicit in the cop-killing spree committed last year. I needed more information on him. I needed back up. I needed a whole sting operation to get him. If he really dealt illegal weapons out of this place, like I thought, I needed a SWAT team. Dogs. Special forces. Not whacked out Matsuda and a nine millimeter with ten rounds.

_This…is a horrible idea…_

A Matsuda idea, to say the least.

Inside, the place was wall-to-wall concrete, plastered with obscene graffiti and filled with smoky air. Red lights gave it a hellish atmosphere, and the loud music was even too grating for _me_, but a disheartening amount of kids, aged fifteen to twenty-five hung out, head banging in the middle of the room and drinking at the bar, when they should be in school, making something of themselves. Most of them didn't take notice of us right away, but those who did stared unabashedly. In a place full of facial piercings and leather, we stuck out even worse than I'd expected.

"I don't see how we can get anywhere in a place like this!" Matsuda shouted. "Everyone must be _so_ drunk! And _stoned_!"

Strictly to settle my nerves, I started a cigarette. I didn't like it here—too dark, too loud, too hot and humid from the sweat of thrashing bodies. The stink of drugs and sex clotted the air.

All I could think of, suddenly, was my quiet basement apartment from fifteen years ago. Shuichi had always acted like I was crazy for living there, but he hadn't understood how quiet and secure it had been, how comfortable the old couch really was, how the smell of the laundry room reminded me of my mother, how it was never too bright or too dim, and just how simple living that way had been. Sometimes, even now that I owned a house of my own, I thought about that little place, and the little, old land lady, Mine-san—she must be dead now—and how simple and safe it had been to flop down on my couch at the end of a long, dangerous shift and fall asleep to the sound of my TV.

Shuichi was different back then, too. I saw him all the time. We worked, played, and stayed together nearly every day, and sometimes I even felt like we'd been more in-tune, then, too. The Shuichi of twenty years ago would have known better than to leave me in a disturbing place like that yesterday. Or, at least, he would have understood what he was asking of me, and he would have been understanding about it later.

"Taniki-tan!" Matsuda shouted in my ear, and nudged my shoulder.

When I looked at him, he jerked his chin across the room, where three men clad in all black trudged toward us.

_Keep your head in the game, Hideki._

The red insignia of the syndicate adorned their lapels, but if they had guns, they were well-hidden.

The shortest of the trio stopped right in front of me, glowering with obvious confusion. He had a cliché, black tear drop tattooed under his left eye, and he looked mean enough to have earned it. "Gentlemen," he said anyway. "Right this way."

His men shouldered in on either side of us, sandwiching us together, and marched us around the outskirts of the crowd, to a dim corner, where a red door painted over with a black K, and another bouncer, waited.

There, they took the time to frisk us, discovering our pistols right away, and the man with the tear drop gave us an even more incredulous look. "You two must be out of your minds."

"One of us is," I agreed, quietly, though, at the moment, I wasn't sure which one it was.

Creakily, the red door swung open, and they ushered us, roughly, into a small room, warmly lit and furnished with leather couches. Two men waited there, a muscular guy standing off to one side with his hands clasped in front of his waist, and another hovering over a decanter of whiskey.

"Close the door," he hissed.

At once, one of our escorts slammed it shut, blocking out the ruckus of the main room.

"Noisy kids," he sighed. "I can hardly stand it." Swirling his whiskey and frowning, he turned to us, revealing a wrinkled face that made him look sixty, even though the rest of him didn't appear to be much over forty. "I'm sure you understand," he said, looking me in the eyes.

"We were all noisy kids once." I puffed on my cigarette, trying to look unworried.

"They had these, Boss." The man with the tear drop tattoo laid our pistols, heavily, onto the mahogany coffee table.

Intently, the boss studied them, tinkling the thick rings on his hand against his tumbler glass, before finally looking at me again. "Wow."

"You have no idea," I muttered.

Next, he stared hard at Matsuda, but the kid looked perfectly comfortable where he was. No reason to be scared. "This is the wrong place for _satsu_," the boss informed us, coldly.

"We never said we were cops."

At least I'd come instead of Aizawa. On a good day, it would be no problem to silver-tongue my way through an encounter like this. Hell, I'd done it with the yakuza boss the night Shinda and Keki died, so a small-timey syndicate general was nothing.

Today, anxiety slithered through my chest, tightening and tightening around my heart until I worried it would burst.

With a chuckle, the boss waved a large hand at the couch in front of us. "In that case, won't you please sit down?"

Matsuda dropped at once, and I slid in next to him, clenching my fists and trying to focus on my cigarette.

"Whiskey? It's Yamazaki Mizunara."

"No, thanks."

"Right." A sly grin unfurled across his lips. "No drinking on duty, am I right?"

Thoughtfully, I studied him, thinking he looked much more sophisticated than violent, dressed in black silk and wearing an intelligent expression. He spoke respectfully. Depending on what kind of man he was, admitting we were police might keep him from killing us, or it might convince him. Until I had a better understanding of him, we'd better play that close to the chest.

"Are you Uko-san?" Matsuda asked suddenly.

Forehead ribbing, the boss stared at him. "That's right. I was under the impression you came here to see me. But if you don't even know who I am…"

"Oh, I don't," Matsuda agreed and jerked his head at me. "Taniki does."

I suppressed a groan, hardly believing he'd address me by that nonsensical nickname in this situation.

_He's still Matsuda._

"Taniki…" Uko-san echoed, in a soft tone of disbelief.

"I'm Mat, by the way," the kid went on, still sounding like this was all routine, and if I didn't know any better, I'd think he didn't even understand the danger we were in.

Confronting a crime syndicate general was always dangerous, but even though the Shinigami hadn't been hunting cops lately, I knew they weren't going to let the investigator who was trying to shut them down get away, let alone the man they wanted to slaughter for their Rakuen.

"Matto and Taniki..." Uko-san mused. He probably just couldn't believe our stupidity.

"Uh-huh. Hey, I'm trying to be polite, here, but we're in a hurry."

Uko-san leveled his most bewildered look yet on Matsuda and then even stared around the room at his bruisers, as if to ask if he was imagining all this. "Sorry to slow you down," he decided, calmly. "What is it you _want_?"

I realized I was being stupid, letting my mind wander, thinking too hard about the past and Shuichi, getting overwhelmed by my own anxiety. I needed to take back control from stupid Matsuda before he got us both killed.

"I've been curious about your club for a while," I explained. "I used to come here when I was a teenager, so when I found out it was open again, I thought I'd stop by."

"That's nice," Uko-san said softly, pacing around the back of the couch opposite us before finally sitting down, crossing one leg over the other and hooking his arm across the back of the couch. He paused to sip and swirl his whiskey, letting the rocks tinkle. "Well, then, what's your take?"

"Not bad," I lied, thinking I preferred this sitting room to the hellpit outside the door. "You might be trying a little too hard, though."

Uko-san laughed. "Excuse my saying so, you don't look like our typical clientele. And those." He directed his gaze to the pistols again. "Only police and yakuza carry those, and even so, more the former than the latter."

At least he seemed to have some discernment; regardless of our affiliation, he probably wouldn't kill us simply to avoid conflict with either the mafia or the NPA.

The problem was, I hadn't worked out a solid way to get the answers we'd come looking for without risking our lives.

"Oh, but." Matsuda raised his hand, like he had a question. "_You're_ all carrying guns, right? So, isn't it police, yakuza, and Shinigami?"

That word still made my blood chill, reminding me, despite how I'd tried to forget, that all of this started over the actions of a reckless god of death. Maybe that should be a comfort, a built-in excuse for things I couldn't control, but it only made me feel helpless.

"Excuse me if this is rude, Mat," Uko-san said with his tone of supreme calm, "but out of those three things, you still look like police the most."

Matsuda laughed. "Not rude at all. But you're wrong. We're interested in the syndicate."

Uko-san's look hardened. "Interested how?"

Before I could think to stop him, Matsuda jerked his sleeve back, revealing the hideous K on his forearm, red, outlined in scar tissue, seeping and full of pus.

Wincing, I had to look away, and I cursed myself. I hadn't guessed his apathy ran so deep he'd let the cuts get infected. That didn't seem like a product of his screwed-up emotions. It seemed psychotic.

Uko-san's eyebrows shot up in an expression of unadulterated shock, and his mouth cocked with disgust. He looked at me. "Your…friend…seems mad."

"He is," I grumbled, still not looking at Matsuda, telling myself I should take him out of here at once. I should tell Aizawa to forget splitting up—it was going to take all three of us to watch his back and protect him from himself. "Absolutely insane."

Pushing his sleeve down again, Matsuda laughed, without humor, like he didn't know if it was a joke or not. "Anyway! We thought we'd come by and see if you could tell us how to join."

Several moments passed. Uko-san sat back in his leather couch and sipped his Yamazaki, studying Matsuda. "We're not taking new members," he decided at last.

"Sounds like we're outta luck," I said, shrugging. "Sorry we bothered you."

But Matsuda had to push. "That's weird. I have it on good authority some members of the syndicate were killed really recently."

At last, Uko-san's expression of unshakeable calm deteriorated into annoyance, and I realized I might have completely lost control already. I'd been stupid to come in here withought a plan, expecting impulsive Matsuda to defer to me, we couldn't backtrack out of what he'd said already, and letting him go ahead with his own flimsy scheme might be my only choice.

_That's not what Aizawa would do._

Aizawa wouldn't _be_ here like this.

"I'm sorry, Matto-kun," Uko-san said, despite the anger on his face. "It's cute that you want to join our cause, but carrying an illegal weapon—if that's really what those are—and mutilating yourself isn't enough to get you in. I think it would be best if the two of you would leave. Right now."

Seeing a way out, I stood up, eagerly, but slowly. "He's right, Mat. This was a bad idea. Let's go." I reached for my pistol.

Uko-san clamped his hand down on it, and shot me an apologetic smile. "That has to stay, I'm afraid."

"All right," I agreed. Much more important to get out of here alive. "C'mon, kiddo. Let's go."

"Hm." Matsuda stayed sitting, head cocked, studying Uko-san intently. "Sorry, but who are you to say we can't join? I mean, we heard you run this club and that there's a lot of activity here, but I doubt you're really the _boss_ boss."

Mouth falling open, I stared down at him. He _was_ going to get us killed.

Uko-san's eyes flickered with surprise. "If you're asking if I'm the head of the syndicate, then, no, you're right. I'm not."

Asking him who was would be the dumbest thing I could do. My investigation was screwed anyway, and getting Matsuda to leave with me was my immediate priority.

_"Mat_," I hissed. "Let's go."

Little shit ignored me. "Then you should tell us who is. We'll go talk to them instead."

Unfuckingbelievable.

"Mat." I pawed at his shoulder.

He shrugged me off, going on, casually, "You don't like us. Maybe somebody else will."

"Oh, I think it's a big leap to say I don't like you, Matto-kun," Uko-san told him, quietly. "For example, I'm offering to let you and your friend leave with your lives."

A chill ran down my spine, and I stared at my gun again.

But Matsuda laughed, cheerlessly. "Nah, you're not gonna kill us. The police have their eyes on this place, right?"

Uko-san growled, "What do you know about that?"

"Why else would you just _assume_ we're cops?"

The boss glanced from our suits to our guns, and I could practically hear him thinking, _is he serious_?

Even I couldn't tell.

"Uko-san," I said, a bit too loudly, "please excuse my friend. It's as you said—he's not right in the head."

His waxed brows knit together as he met my gaze. His eyes were golden, wild like an animal's. "What sort of friend are you, letting him come in here like this?"

"He would have come alone," I explained simply. "I'm the best kind of damn friend there is."

A wry smirk touched his lips. "Is that the only word of truth that's come from the two of you? I advise you then, Taniki-san—take your crazy friend and go."

"You got it." I grabbed Matsuda's arm, murmuring, "Come on, Mat. You promised to listen to me."

The kid's voice turned suddenly hard. "I didn't promise anything. _You_ promised."

"No, no… Yeah. Well. I did, but…" I shot an uneasy look at Uko-san, and then around at his men. "But I'm trying to keep that promise right now. Let's leave. Please."

He stood up, jerking out of my hand and settling a piercing look on Uko-san. "Cops will be all over this place if you kill us. Not so great for lying low."

_"Matsuda_.".

"I'm done playing games. I don't want to join your syndicate, I want to know about the members who got killed last week. Tell me, and I'll go away."

Horrified, I stared at Uko-san.

His eyes had narrowed, and a sharp smile had cut across his lips, revealing teeth of glossy white; he got up, leaving his whiskey on the table to slip his hands into his pockets. "Matsuda, huh? Well, I'm not sure what you're in here asking me for. You killed them, didn't you?"

My heart stopped beating, and I thought for sure I'd pass out.

_I said his goddamn name!_

"That's what I'm trying to find out," Matsuda told him, coolly.

A bleak chuckle rolled from Uko-san's mouth. "Even if you _didn't_… Come on. What were you thinking?" He unbuttoned his shirt, revealing a red K tattooed on his chest. "One year ago, I vowed I'd never rest until I saw you dead."

"Yeah." Matsuda gave him the careless shrug he'd been showing the rest of us for days. "Kira, Reaper, Rakuen, all that."

"So." Uko-san eased closer, bunching his fists like he wanted to break Matsuda's neck. "Here you are, facing a man who believes spilling your blood will usher in the Rakuen and revive God Kira. Explain to me again what makes you so confident I won't kill you."

"When you put it that way, I'm not."

"Really? You don't seem scared." He took another step, reaching into his pocket.

My muscles tightened, and my mind blurred. Five of them. Two of us. If they were armed, the two seconds it would take to reach for my pistol could easily be the difference between life and death.

"I'm not," Matsuda assured him.

"You're crazy," Uko-san spat. "Just as well. You couldn't have avoided death forever."

In a blur of silver, he drew the knife, swinging for Matsuda's neck.

A shout tore out of me, and I clawed for my gun.

His men lurched toward me.

Out of perfectly trained reflex, Matsuda knocked Uko-san's hand away, blocking the blow and seizing his wrist. With a deft twist, he had the man doubled over, flailing in pain, and then he wrenched the knife out of his hand.

By then, the other four had drawn down, guns leveled on us.

"Don't shoot!" Uko-san screamed. "We need him!"

In my hand, my own pistol shook, violently.

With a snort, Matsuda pressed the blade to Uko-san's wrinkly throat, digging in until I saw a red line appear under the edge. "What happened to the syndicate members I killed?"

"Wh-what are you talking about?" Uko-san whimpered. "You killed them!"

"Yes. But how? When? _Why?_"

"A-are you out of your mind?"

"Taniki-tan already told you—I am. And I'm more than willing to stab you to death right now, even if that means we both get shot. If you care more about _living_ than you do about seeing your precious Rakuen, you'd better answer me."

"M-Matsuda…" I whispered. But I didn't know what to tell him. There weren't many options to get us out of this.

Matsuda drew a thin cut on Uko-san's throat.

"I-I don't know what to tell you!" Uko-san cried. "It was last week—like you said. I don't know much about it. Those men you killed weren't even important to the syndicate—they hadn't been on long. As far as I know, you just walked in there and gunned them down for no reason!"

I held my breath.

"Like what I did today?" Matsuda asked, emotionlessly.

"Wh-what?"

"Was it like what I did today?"

"Yes! Yes, you lunatic! Just like this! The men you let live reported that you showed up out of nowhere, shot three of them, and then just turned around and left! You never even said a word!"

Matsuda frowned. Emotionless or not, when he looked at me, I could tell he was displeased at least. "Not really like me."

"No," I managed to husk.

Next, he demanded, "What about Tero? Did he have anything to do with it?"

Uko-san stammered, "I-I don't know who that is…"

"Really?" Matsuda dug the knife in deeper. One twitch, and he'd slit the man's throat, and then I'd have a real mess on my hands. No, Aizawa would. He'd staked his career on Matsuda's innocence, and now…

"I don't know who that is!" Uko-san screamed. "I've never met anybody named Tero! I swear!"

Matsuda's eyes darkened, flashing, and his lips twisted into a vicious, hateful frown, but he simply murmured, "Well, aren't you lucky?"

With that, he fished a gun out from under Uko-san's silk shirt and ground it against the boss's skull, barking at the others, "Throw down your guns!"

Right away, the four bodyguards did as they were told, showing the same pattern of loyalty I'd observed in the syndicate ever since the beginning.

"Good." Matsuda waved the gun at them. "Everyone line up over there, against the wall. Hands over your heads."

They hesitated, starting to look wild-eyed, like spooked horses, pawing at the ground and staring at each other. "A-are you gonna kill us?" one squeaked. He looked young.

"Yeah," Matsuda told him in a strange tone, carefree like always, but confused, like the question shouldn't have to be asked. "Of course I'm gonna kill you. Line up over there to make it easier."

"What?" The young guy burst into tears. "No! No, I don't wanna die!"

"Neither do I. Go line up."

"This is absurd!" Uko-san shouted, voice quavering with fear.

"You broke the law," Matsuda reminded him, conversationally. "You're part of a syndicate built specifically to murder people. You threatened to kill _me_ just now. Why would I leave you alive?"

"Matsuda!" I joined in the yelling. "You can't!"

"Everyone line up," he repeated, equally cold, not so much as raising his voice. "Except you, Taniki-tan."

"Obviously," I grated out, and watched in disbelief as the four bodyguards shuffled their way to the wall, begging and weeping, screaming and threatening us, but they put their hands to their heads, like he'd instructed. The young one kept wailing over and over, "Please don't kill us! Please! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"

Not caring in the slightest, Matsuda kicked Uko-san to the floor and aimed the gun at his head, and I didn't see so much as a glimmer of doubt in his maple eyes. "You first."

"Holy shit!" I threw myself between Uko-san and the gun, spreading my arms so the violent trembling was suddenly clear as day. "Holy shit, Matsuda! Don't!"

Unflinchingly, he met my gaze, and I was terrified he'd shoot me. "They couldn't help us, they're just a bunch of scum bags."

"Holy shit, holy shit… _Sergeant! _I…"

No. No this was no good either. If they saw us at odds, they'd be able to use it against us, even if I saved their lives.

If Aizawa were here, he'd have a good chance at talking Matsuda down from this ledge, but I didn't think I could, and there wasn't a lot of time for trial and error.

No time for reasoning.

_Shit!_

As hard as I could, I whacked Uko-san over the head with my pistol, letting him slump to the floor, and then shouting, "Nobody move!"

The bodyguards whimpered, but with their heads pressed to the wall, I had to at least hope they couldn't see what was happening.

Knowing it could easily get me shot, I snagged Matsuda's wrist, shoving his barrel to the side where it couldn't hit anyone, and then shouldered closer to him. "Go. Right now."

His stone-cold eyes stayed leveled on the men lined up against the wall.

"They're not a threat."

"If we let them live—"

"_Go!_" I slammed him with my shoulder, backing him toward the door.

Gun aimed for the bodyguards, one hand on Matsuda's wrist, I somehow managed to kick the door open and thrust him out. Immediately, another bodyguard got in my face, reaching for me with gorilla hands. I pistol whipped him out of pure reaction, and a loud crack cut through the music as his jaw broke.

Around us, a few kids noticed and screamed.

Flagging people, turning back and forth, scanning for danger, aiming at everything that moved in a room full of chaos, I watched another batch of syndicate members make their way through the crowd, coming after us.

"Oh, shit, shit." I shoved Matsuda into the sea of heaving and thrashing bodies. An emergency exit glowed at the back of the building. "Go!" I pushed him that way. "Go, go, go!"

Forcing my way through walls of kids grinding to nightmare music, I started to run.

A shot rang out. Everyone screamed and started to surge. A few hit the dirt. In the confusion, I lost my grip on Matsuda.

"Dammit!" I plowed through the mob, knocking kids down and shoving them aside in my race for the exit.

A bullet blew past my head. Instinctively, I aimed over my shoulder, but stopped myself. The last thing I needed was to hit a bystander.

"Matsuda, dammit!"

Behind me, the bodyguards had burst out of the room, guns in hand again.

I was almost to the door.

Matsuda reappeared and passed me, ramming me with his shoulder. "Faster, Ide."

For a split second, he vanished into a shadow, and then blinding sunlight poured in as he thrust the door open. A fire alarm screamed, and his body became a black silhouette.

Right on his heels, I sprang through the exit too, skidding to a stop to look wildly around. We'd entered a narrow alley. Great place for an emergency exit… Someone must have sucked off the fire marshall to get away with that one.

To my left, Matsuda pelted down the uneven path.

I leapt after him, trying to watch over my shoulder without running into anything.

The door burst open. I fired a pop shot, and my lead hit the wall next to the exit in an explosion of wood. Someone yelped and ducked back inside.

Behind Matsuda a few steps, I jagged around the corner of the building. Somewhere, I heard shouting. We sprinted up the street. In the distance, Mogi's rental glinted in the sunlight. If we could just reach it…

Another bullet whistled by, nowhere near hitting me, but I stumbled. Passersby screamed and froze, staring at us.

Matsuda jumped over the hood, sliding across it. I rammed against him as he went for the driver's door. "I've got the keys!"

He scrambled into the back instead, and I practically threw myself behind the wheel, attention torn between the mob of men in black racing toward us and the ignition.

"Faster, Ide," Matsuda muttered.

"Shut up!" I screamed, finally turning the engine over and throwing the car into gear. Tires peeling, I nearly backed over a pack of pedestrians crossing the street.

Gunfire rattled, and glass sprayed. I felt the bullet graze my ear and screamed, staring at the hole that had appeared in the windshield.

"These guys are crazy," Matsuda commented.

"Look who's fucking talking!" I ripped around, knocking over a trash bin, and crammed the accelerator, screaming back up the road. The club vanished in my rearview, but I kept my gaze balanced there a long time, sure I'd see a car race up behind us.

White knuckling the steering wheel, I got on a back route, speeding and breezing through traffic, just as bad as Aizawa. Once, I tried to turn on my lights or siren before I remembered the rental didn't have those things.

"What a waste of time," Matsuda complained, when it seemed we were safe.

"You damn idiot!" I exploded. "You god-damned idiot! You fucking _idiot_, Matsuda! You idiot! You idiot! You idiot!"

Mildly, he met my gaze in the mirror. "What?"

"You almost got us killed! You almost murdered a bunch of people! All to say it was a waste of time!?"

"I mean, it was. It didn't help me at all."

"Idiot!" I pounded the steering wheel. "Fucking _idiot_!" I stuck my hand back at him. "Give me that pistol!"

"I had to leave mine there." He frowned. "You can't expect me to complete my directive without—"

"Give it to me! Right now! I swear to god I'll take you to the station and book you for misusing your weapon!"

Finally, he handed it over. Hands shaking, I threw it onto the seat next to me and then scraped my fingers through my hair.

"God. Shit… Oh, it'll be fun explaining this to Shuichi."

What did I expect, though, honestly? Matsuda had said he'd do what I said, but after he'd ignored us for the last three days, I'd been an idiot to believe him.

Shuichi would just say I told you so. He had every right.

"I should take you to the station anyway," I told him, still half-shouting. "You're _dangerous_ as fuck like this! You've already killed three people—like Boko said!"

"I'm not in my right mind," he explained, like I'd forgotten.

"Then Aizawa's right! You should be in the hospital!"

He should be. I'd known all along Aizawa was right, but I hadn't wanted to resort to that… I still didn't.

I slammed on the brakes at the next stop light, dangerously close to hitting the car ahead of me.

Immediately, Matsuda's door popped open. As I was turning to look over my shoulder, he stepped out.

"Goddammit!" I jumped out too, grabbing his arm before he could take a step and talking fast. "I didn't mean it, I didn't mean it. No, obviously I'm not taking you to the hospital. Obviously, you have to complete your directive. I'm going to help you do that."

A narrow-eyed look of suspicion was all I got. The light changed, cars started honking.

I gestured to his open door. "Please get back in the car. I'm not going to arrest you, just… Please?"

Still, he didn't move.

The man right behind us shouted through his window, "Oy! Move it!"

"Matsuda." I gripped his shoulders tight, but after watching what he'd done to Uko-san, I didn't dare try to make him do anything. "Come on. Please don't make me crawl back to Shuichi and admit I lost you."

"Not my problem," he said, callously. "If you're going to get in the way of my directive, I don't need you."

"I'm not! I swear to god I'm not!"

"You just said you were." His glare deepened, eyes looking almost black, icy and uncaring as cloudy midnight.

Behind us, the man shouted again, and the cars honked. Some started going around us, drivers flipping us off as they passed.

"I didn't mean it. Listen…" I smoothed Matsuda's lapel. "You can't do all this by yourself, dude."

A single line appeared on his forehead. "Dude?"

"Just think where you'd be right now if it weren't for me!"

Blinking, he thought about it, but in a second, he said, much too easily, "Dead, probably. There were a lot more of them than I thought."

"Yeah," I panted. "Yeah, yeah, that's right. Touta, you'd be dead. You gotta complete your directive, but…you can't do it alone. Please get back in the car."

With that obnoxious shrug, he nodded. "Yeah, you're right." And then he climbed in and shut the door.

By the time I got in, shaking and fumbling with my cigarettes, the light had changed back to red, and the people behind us were furious. I stared at the broken windshield, like it was part of a dream, and dropped my lighter. When I scraped it up from the floor, the light had turned. I gunned it.

"You need to relax," Matsuda chided. "It all worked out."

I stared in the mirror at him. "You…have _got_ to be kidding me."


	15. Chapter 15

**Aizawa**

Mysteriously, after becoming chief, my office had seemed to shrink and shrink as I learned more about exactly what the job entailed, and now, in those uncomfortably tight quarters, the light from the computer screen scalded my eyes, and the silence sounded maddening. Try as I might to focus, so far the security footage Mogi got from the research lab showed nothing but day after day of the same blank hallway, and it was becoming apparent that we might have to go back weeks—maybe even months—to find the right moment.

Drumming my fingers, I checked my watch. We'd been sitting for nearly two hours, more than enough time for Ide and Matsuda to have gotten into trouble.

Morons. Last night, it had seemed like Matsuda and I came to an understanding, and I'd honestly believed he would start taking my orders more seriously, but Ide's going against me left me feeling lost, and if I was really honest with myself, slightly hurt.

After all, that was the guy who always had my back, even if I didn't ask him to, even if I didn't _want_ him to. The guy who iced and wrapped my hand when I broke it being overly emotional. That was the guy who told me uncomfortable truths when I needed to hear them and slammed me on the shoulder if I lost sight of myself. That was the guy who used to show up on my doorstep with a pack of beer when life got rough, the guy who chased killers and arrested psychos with me. The best man at my wedding. The uncle to my kids in everything but blood.

I couldn't say he'd liked every decision I'd ever made in my career, but he'd always backed me up, and I never would have dreamed the arguments we'd been having could lead to him to suddenly going against my authority. When he got back, I didn't know if I should yell at him, suspend him, or try to get to the bottom of what he was thinking.

Typically, the latter wasn't even an option with him. No matter what had gotten into him or how bad it might honestly be, he'd go right on playing the calm and collected tough guy he'd always perpetuated. Even if I could pry without losing my temper, he hated it when I pushed him, and he'd probably snap at me.

_I don't have time for your shit, Hideki…_

Couldn't he see I had a million other things to worry over?

I clenched my fist, dwelling on the pain and thinking of the trouble he'd gone to, tending to my injuries, like he always did. I needed his support.

Outside my office, my secretary, old Danuja, peered through the blinds and pursed her lips, waving a notepad at me—my messages.

When I'd come in, she'd all but jumped on me, rattling off about calls and meetings I'd missed and filling me in on the general unrest running my department in my absence. "Chief," she'd wheezed, in a scolding tone reminiscent of my grandmother's, "you mustn't keep this up. Your job is to oversee the department, not play favorites with only one case."

"I know that, Danuja, thank you."

Still she'd puttered along beside me. "You look terrible, by the way. Does your wife know where you are? She keeps calling me."

If she'd started contacting my secretary, Eriko must be really frustrated, but at this point, I couldn't risk her relaying anything I said back to Sayu.

When it was obvious I intended to ignore her, Danuja let herself into my office, dumping the notes on my desk. "These are the messages I mentioned earlier."

There were a ton of them, scattered across a dizzying palette of colorful sticky notes.

"Some of them are quite important," she rasped. As far as I knew, she'd been smoking her whole life, and it showed in her wrinkly face and constant cough.

That's how stupid Hideki would probably look and sound in another twenty years…

_If he comes back…_

I shook that away, not daring to think about life without him.

"Yes, Danuja, thank you."

She sniffed. "You really should address some business while you're here; and call Eriko-san back. It's a wonder that poor girl doesn't divorce you."

I felt Mogi staring at me from the corner of his eye, radiating an air of nervousness; seeing how he hadn't been here for practically the whole time I'd acted as chief, he'd never witnessed the blunt, severe way my secretary spoke to me. Like a disapproving, old mother.

"Danuja," I sighed. "Sometimes I wonder about you."

She looked narrowly at me over the golden frames of her antique glasses.

"Have you just been here since the beginning of time? Nagging chief after chief since mankind first evolved?"

With another sniff, she drew herself up. "I do recollect telling a boy named Shuichi Aizawa to mind his manners, and that was nearly twenty years ago. He wasn't a good listener."

"No, well…" I stared hard at the screen in front of me, but there was nothing to see there. "You can't fix everyone. Maybe it's time to give up. Retire."

"I would if I thought anyone could run this department without me," she scoffed, and then added, curtly, "I took the liberty of ordering you a salad for lunch."

"You know I hate salad."

"Your heart will thank me," she said, clipping out of the office, frail and cocky as a red-crowned crane.

"Old Danuja still works here," Mogi mused.

"Who did you think was running the department?" I snorted. "_Me_?"

A slight smile touched his lips, but he kept his eyes on the screen, and I turned that way again, loath to watch even one more second of boring footage when Matsuda and my best friend might be dying.

In a moment, my phone went off, the light-hearted sound of an incoming text making my chest feel tight, but it was just Ide asking where he should meet us.

Short-lived relief washed over me. For several seconds, I stared at the message, torn between telling him I was glad to know he'd survived and saying something snarky. Neither of us liked texting; I hit the call button.

Ide didn't answer. I tried a couple times before simply texting back, _station, _because he probably just didn't feel like talking to me, considering the way we'd left things.

I didn't especially feel like talking to him either. It made me angry that he kept butting heads with me on how to handle this case, even to the point that he'd been mad yesterday when I left him on site to wait for forensics. I couldn't get it out of him why that bothered him so much, and it annoyed me that he'd waste energy on something so petty. If I had to guess, he felt a lot more worried by this whole situation than he was letting on, but the fact that he truly seemed to expect me to betray Matsuda aggravated me.

Of course, I wanted Matsuda to go to the hospital and stay there until we could fix him, but unless he chose that himself, my hands were tied; I certainly wasn't going to take him against his will. Ide should understand that.

_We've always been on the same page. You always seem to know exactly what I'm thinking. How did we lose that out of nowhere?_

"Assuming there's nothing on this video," Mogi murmured, "what can we conclude?"

"That the theft happened a long time ago," I grumbled, reluctant to leave my thoughts. "That they want to cover it up and deleted the footage we need. That they're lying and no one stole that device. That we're being misled. Tricked. Deceived."

For the first time in two hours, Mogi took his eyes off the screen to study me with an air that appeared almost pitying.

At this point, they could probably all see the way I'd begun to come apart, and Mogi had already informed me in the past that they just wanted to help me, because my journey as their leader had been so strenuous and strange.

But I did not want their pity, I wanted them to do as I asked.

"Aren't we always?" Mogi asked quietly.

"Seems like it lately." I got up, stretching my arms. "I'm getting coffee. Want anything?"

"No." He turned back to the screen. "Just stay away from the vending machine, Chief. You know how that goes."

"Very funny," I snorted, on my way out. I just needed to clear my head.

Leaving the safety of my office turned out to be a mistake, though. As soon as I emerged, one person after another swamped me, all with questions or reports, concerns, complaints, petty drama, and insecurities. Danuja was right, as it turned out. I'd been away only a few days, but chaos had taken over my department, and it took quite a bit of determination to reach the coffee pot in the break room.

A few people hung out there, taking lunch and chatting; they looked interestedly at me, as if trying to decide if they wanted to take time out of their breaks to pose their own questions, but I stayed careful not to meet anyone's gaze.

Being chief meant more than giving orders. A long time ago, as a young man, I'd experienced fleeting fantasies about being the boss, though I'd never expected to become anything more than a lieutenant, maybe a captain. Young Shuichi hadn't dwelled much on what leadership really meant, the demands of it or the taxing nature of it; maybe I'd really been naïve enough to believe having people's respect would be enough to make them always obey, but the reality was, this was far from a dictatorship, and if I couldn't even get Hideki to listen to me, I must be failing.

Meanwhile, it looked like I'd let the whole department down; disappearing on them like this, whether it had to do with a crisis or not, was unacceptable.

_I can't keep doing this_, I told myself, as I hurried back toward my office. _I have a job…_

Getting the notebook mattered more than that. But Matsuda… This morning he'd more or less admitted that he believed he'd killed those people. I _could_ lose everything trying to restore his mind.

As I neared my office again, keeping my head down and trying not to be seen, Ide and Matsuda appeared on the far side of the room. Matsuda had that air of cold levity around him still, so at least I knew they hadn't cracked the case, but panic seemed to have gotten a hold of Ide, rounding his narrow eyes and making his face pale. He no longer had his tie, but he carried his jacket under his arm, and his hair was disheveled. A broken cigarette hung out of his mouth, partially smoked.

When he saw me, he stopped hard, and then suddenly rushed my direction with such force, I didn't know if he planned to throw his arms around me or take a swing at my face, but I braced myself.

"Shuichi," he sputtered, jerking to a stop right in front of me.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" I couldn't remember the last time I'd seen him so freaked out.

"We have to find the fucker who did this to him," he gushed suddenly. "We have to find that motherfucker and make him pay. Dearly. We have to fucking find that piece of shit, Shuichi!"

My mouth fell open, and I scanned the department, quickly, unnerved to see several people staring at him, some curiously, some disturbed. "Quiet," I scolded. "We don't—"

"We have to fix this!" he insisted, louder than ever.

"That's what we're trying to do, Ide," I reminded him, gentler.

"We have to do it faster," he decided, raking the hair back from his forehead, and then froze that way, staring vehemently at his shoes.

Matsuda came up beside him, giving him a mild look, while I waited, impatiently, for them to explain his distress.

"I need to go home," he announced suddenly.

"_Home_? But—"

"Home. Right now. I can't. This is too much."

"Ide, relax. Tell me what's—"

"I don't have time. See you tomorrow." He threw his coat over his shoulder, struggling with his lighter, despite the state of his cigarette. "God. When I find that fucker, I'll beat the shit out of him." Still grumbling things like that under his breath, he strode away.

Matsuda and I watched him go, and then slowly exchanged looks. "What the hell did you do to Ide?"

"Oh, almost got him killed, I think."

He said it calmly, as if he'd committed some minor infraction on par with drinking Ide's last beer, and the added I think made it sound as if he wasn't even sure that's what happened.

As I stared after Ide, my guts twisted, and instinct compelled me to chase him down and drag it out of him what had happened.

_If I push him, he'll lose it._

Maybe not. Nine out of ten times, though, if I prompted him to discuss something that made him uncomfortable, he got defensive right away, which turned almost immediately into aggression I didn't think I could handle right now.

He might not do that to Matsuda. Blithe and obliging, the kid knew how to sidestep Ide's defensiveness and overlook the aggression in such a way that it seemed like Ide didn't know what to do other than to explain himself. Sometimes, I'd thought, it looked like he did it simply because he felt guilty and stupid for snapping at him. But, at the moment, I didn't know if Matsuda knew how to do that. He definitely didn't care to.

Ide certainly wouldn't talk to Mogi. And, anyway, Mogi didn't have much patience for his behavior. Before he'd bother to push, he'd simply sigh and mutter, "Okay, then, Ide."

That meant it was up to me, and I wasn't sure I could find the patience required. The last thing I wanted was to start a shouting match with my captain in the middle of the squad room

"Poor Taniki-tan," Matsuda murmured, with a doleful shake of his head.

Still battling with the urge to go after him, I kept my eyes on Ide. "Yeah."

"He's completely in love with you."

"I know."

He hadn't even stood still long enough for me to notice if he'd been hurt. At least, he might let me ask him that much, but delving into his emotions… That just wasn't Ide's strong suit.

_At least he's alive._

I'd give him a while to calm down, and then I'd call him. I couldn't leave him that way.

"Have you guys ever talked about it?"

"Talked about what?" Blinking to myself, I finally glanced down at Matsuda. "Wait. What? Did he…actually say something about that to you?"

Ide wouldn't. He'd always kept his feelings under lock and key to the point that I hardly knew what his situation really was.

"No." Matsuda shrugged. "I can just tell."

A million questions hit me. How could he tell? How long had he known? What had tipped him off? Did he have any insights? Suggestions? Ide had never admitted anything to me, outright, I just knew, the same way I knew I didn't feel that same way toward him. Possibly, though, he had mentioned something to tolerant, kind-hearted Matsuda. Or maybe, without the frivolities that normally cluttered his mind, Matsuda had picked up on it.

Even if he had, in this altered state, I doubted he'd have anything very helpful to say, just as his pointing out yesterday that Ide was the brother I'd never had didn't clarify anything for me, only made the bond between us murkier than ever.

Matsuda, I remembered, didn't even care right now how Hideki or I felt about anything, let alone each other.

At last, Ide rounded the corner, and I scanned the squad room to see if anyone had noticed our conversation, but most of them had returned to work.

"Look. Don't just go…blurting that out to anyone. It's between me and him."

He cocked his head, thoughtfully, eyes bright with that unfamiliar quality of analysis. "So… He's just been dealing with that? For twenty years?"

How the hell was I to know? I'd always assumed it was something he'd unwittingly fallen into after working so closely with me for a few years—that was the sort of love I understood and believed in. Possibly, though, Ide had felt that way the very first time we'd spoke. Seeing how I couldn't even remember specifically when that had been, there was simply no telling.

Sympathy and guilt struggling to the surface, I took one last look to where Ide had vanished, and then turned to lead the way back to my office. "Just be careful, Matsuda. He's sensitive about that."

Even if he wasn't sensitive about anything else on Earth, I'd seen time and again that those feelings, however they started, whatever they entailed, meant a lot to him. They might even scare him.

"Yeah," Matsuda agreed, falling into step beside me. "I noticed." And then he dropped it, changing the topic rather loudly. "We went to this club he said is owned by the syndicate, and—"

"Dammit. Not here." Grabbing his arm, I dragged him back into my office, where Mogi didn't seem to have even shifted in his seat.

"Anyway, it doesn't matter," Matsuda decided, dropping into my chair without a thought.

I shut the door a little louder than I'd meant to and realized that I must have set my coffee down somewhere. "What do you mean it doesn't matter? Is he okay? Are _you?_"

"What?" Matsuda furrowed his brow at me. "Oh. Yeah. He's fine. I guess I'm lucky he was there."

Exhaling an aggravated breath, I leaned back against my door. I'd tried to tell them not to go do that, Ide had undermined my authority in a way only Hideki Ide could manage, and he'd almost gotten killed because of it.

_That dumb shit._

I got out my phone and selected my conversation with Ide. Painfully slow, I tapped out, _You're a mess, _but that was too blunt. I deleted it.

"Anyway, what'd you guys find out?" Matsuda asked, like nearly dying was just a day in the life for him. "We didn't find out very much… Actually, I don't think we found out _anything_. At this point, I really need that license plate number to work out."

Mogi glanced at him.

I texted. _Get some rest, Hideki._

Being so frazzled, he might not like that. I deleted it.

Matsuda bubbled away. "I know it probably won't crack the case, like you said, but I'm fresh out of leads—looks like the syndicate really didn't have anything to do with any of this—and I know Golden Teeth was there when they tortured me."

Imagining that big, asshole westerner laying his hands on my sergeant restored the rage that had gotten swallowed in my worry, and I lingered at the door, trying to curb that feeling, but I wanted to kick the hell out of that man too.

I texted. _Call me later._ No point in struggling with the tiny buttons when we could have a conversation on the phone. And, maybe, with any luck, not talking about it face to face would keep him from freaking out.

Matsuda kept talking. "I've been thinking, it's weird they didn't scrub that room they kept me in. Maybe that's what he went back there for. I can't think of any other reason for him to show up like that."

Mogi looked at the screen again.

If Hideki didn't call me, went home, and made himself sink back into his façade of perfection, I might not ever be able to get through to him.

I got my phone out and hit call, listening to it ring.

"I guess it's possible he's ditched the car since we saw him," Matsuda rattled on. "But even if he did, we should at least be able to find out who it was registered to. That's—"

The door sprang open, knocking me forward, and Ide stormed in, looking, unbelievably, more frazzled than ever.

"I can't go home, dammit," he explained to our questioning looks. "I can't go home. Not like this."

"Jesus, Hideki," I sputtered, out of pure surprise. "Would you calm down?"

Not seeming to hear me, he prowled once around the room and then took the last seat available, jamming his fingers through his hair until it stuck up like a rooster comb in the front.

"Welcome back," Matsuda greeted, politely.

Distractedly, Mogi echoed, "Welcome back."

With a heavy sigh, Ide slid down in his seat and uttered a sarcastic, "Thanks, guys."

Sliding my phone back into my pocket, I took a step toward him. "Hey. Maybe we should—"

"Anyway, like I was saying," Matsuda started up again, "The license plate is all I can think of right now." He turned to me. "Did you run it?"

"Yeah, yeah, I ran it." I hung awkwardly over Ide's shoulder, staring down at him, and then, when he refused to look at me, back to the footage of that insanely blank hallway. "It's registered under the name Max Cooper. I don't know yet if that's an alias—we'll have to look into that next."

Matsuda frowned. "So why are we wasting time watching this video? Even if we see something, I doubt we'll be able to figure out who we're looking at."

I rubbed the bridge of my nose. His energy was killing me. "Matsuda…we're doing what we can right now. Cases like this take time."

Still, he insisted, "Even if we ID the thief, they might not have anything to do with this. They could have stolen the device and sold it to Tero elsewhere."

"It's a start, that's all. Like the license plate. It's just a place to start."

"Yeah, but I'm saying—"

"I can't just wave my hands and make facts magically appear!" I snarled. "The only fact we have right now is that the GPS that was in _your_ tooth got stolen from _this_ facility where they've been known to research _mind control_! Everything else is just you running wild—"

Ide jumped up. "I'm going home. I can't take it. I'm going home."

I paused to scowl at him. "Would you _please_ make up your mind?"

"No. No…" he sat down. "You're right. I can't go."

"Oh my god." I dug my fingers into my temples, trying to massage away the headache the two of them had brought back with them. "Hideki, let's go smoke a cigarette. Matsu, stay here with Mogi and watch the footage."

"We should be looking into Max Cooper," Matsuda argued. "I handed the notebook to him, Aizawa."

"You handed the notebook to someone who was driving a car registered under the _name_—"

Again, the door popped open, slower this time, and Kei poked her head in, staring a long moment at me, and then around at the others before a tentative smile eased across her lips. "Hey, the fantastic four."

"Kei," I sighed. "Not now… Please."

Regardless, she came in, shutting the door gently behind her, and gave a little wave. "Hey, Mogi. What're you doing here?"

He merely jerked his hand at her.

She moved along to Matsuda. "Touma, you're okay! Well, I mean, you look a little…"

"I'm okay," he agreed, stonily.

Smile slipping, she studied him. "Um, I heard they found you, but I thought you were at home…"

"I'm not. I'm here watching pointless footage."

"Oh, um, okay, then." Next, she laid a hand on Ide's shoulder. "Hideki…"

Ide looked up like he'd barely noticed she was there. "Yeah. Hey. What's up?"

"I saw you come in and thought I'd... I haven't seen you in days."

"Sorry. I've been busy." Of course, he'd want to look cool and at ease in front of his girlfriend. I doubted she'd ever seen anything like the crazed Hideki who'd nearly sprang into my arms out in the hall.

"I know," Kei agreed, "and I don't want to distract you. I just was hoping we could talk for a moment."

"Wait your turn, Komagata," I told her. "We're about to go smoke—"

Following a knock on my door, Danuja appeared, holding up a plastic takeout bowl and frowning sourly. "Your lunch is here, Chief. And your wife called again."

"Dammit, I told you I hate salad." Distractedly, I took it from her anyway.

"Call your wife," she ordered, and then left, muttering to herself about my ungrateful attitude.

"God dammit." I threw the bowl onto the desk. "Ide, let's go. Cigarette. Now."

He barely glanced at me. "If you want a cigarette so bad, just go buy a pack and smoke one."

"Well, come with me."

"Anata." Kei leaned over him suddenly, saying loudly, "I need to talk to you in private."

It really wasn't the way I expected a woman to act, undermining my authority and prioritizing their fling over our twenty year friendship; I was so blown away, I couldn't speak.

_God damned American women._

"Yeah." Ide nodded. "Yeah. All right." He got up, and they went out together.

I watched them walk down the hall, dismayed. Hideki would find his cool while talking to Kei, and he wouldn't have anything to say to me by the time I actually got him alone.

Aggravated to no end, I threw myself down in my chair, pried open my salad, and doused it in some disgusting vinaigrette with the consistency of mucus.

Maybe I wasn't giving Hideki enough credit. Maybe talking to Kei would help him.

Then again, I didn't know how serious they really were. In some instances, they seemed very serious—much more serious than I'd seen him about a woman possibly ever—and on the other hand, they seemed extremely non-committal. He'd bragged to me that neither of them had an interest in getting married and that their relationship was comprised mostly of having a ton of sex and playing video games between orgasms, as if they were both in their twenties.

But, on the other hand, Hideki had a history of somehow meeting the worst, most superficial, most emotionally abusive women on the planet. Kei really cared about him, at least. He must trust her enough to confide in her occasionally.

"It's not healthy if it's swimming in dressing," Matsuda announced.

"It's not half a pound of meat like you'd get," I answered, absently.

"I have a fast metabolism," he said, dismissively.

It would be nice if, for once, Hideki had someone other than me to support him. He couldn't go his whole life counting on no one but me. Surely, Kei would be able to bring him around to a rational state of mind. Maybe she'd even convince him to talk to me.

"I never asked for a salad."

"Yeah, but Danu-san is just looking out for you."

"I don't want to hear that from you of all people. Not right now."

"Ah-ha," Mogi uttered, leaning forward to slow the video back to a normal speed, and I abandoned my salad to watch intently.

A lone figure sauntered down the blank hallway, black as a demon in the immaculate white. Only for a moment, he paused at the storage door, and then entered using what appeared to be a keycard, disappearing inside, and then came out again immediately. All of it took less than thirty seconds, and if Mogi hadn't been paying such careful attention, we might have missed it.

He paused the footage, backing it up, slowing it down, murmuring to himself, "February second, just before four pm."

"That was a long time ago," I muttered. "If the thief had anything to do with the abduction, he started planning for it months in advance."

We watched the footage a couple times, but, unfortunately, Matsuda was right. It was too fuzzy to make out any distinctive features when the man entered or left the room.

"Tero," Matsuda whispered next to me.

When I turned to him, his eyes were hard as stone, mouth twisted in what almost looked like hatred, possibly the most expressive look I'd seen on his face since he'd gone into the yellow box. He met my gaze, speaking in a low, revolted tone. "That's Tero."

In a new light, I studied the son of a bitch on the video. He walked boldly, with a confident gait, like he was supposed to be there, and he wore a suit. If I had to guess, he wasn't very tall—no taller than Ide or Matsuda at least—an average-looking guy.

Still, I sat back in my chair as Mogi replayed the footage over and over, afraid to blink and miss a vital clue, watching that blurry face and trying to imagine what sort of motives might lie behind all this.

"All their employees have that keycard," Mogi explained in a while.

"Could he have stolen it?"

"Chiyuuda suspected an employee."

Apparently the doctor would have reasons for that, and I imagined he'd mention a missing all-access keycard to Mogi if it had been stolen. I looked at Matsuda, reluctant to ask, "What do you think?"

He hadn't taken his eyes off Tero yet, but the hatred had turned cold, like he was simply watching a TV villain he couldn't stand. "That guy's got no conscience, Aizawa," he said. "I wouldn't be surprised if he stole it."

No, obviously the sick sonnova bitch had no problem taking _people_ against their will.

"But he's also smart," Matsuda added. "He could work there."

"Leaving this footage behind doesn't seem smart," I scoffed.

"No…" Matsuda thought about that for several moments, and then sat forward to pause the footage, staring a long time at Tero's face. "But if he planned to have his men kill me on that helicopter, he might not have ever expected you to find this footage."

If they'd dumped Matsuda's body in the ocean, they could have gotten away clean.

Suppressing a shudder, I muttered, "Still careless."

"He didn't really strike me like the kind of person to plan stuff out," Matsuda explained after another short pause. "He couldjust be careless. Unless he has some reason to let things go this way."

"Like a trap?" I scowled at the man on the screen. "Looking at everything he's done so far, none of it makes much sense."

Kidnapping Matsuda to find out about Kira's killing methods was insane without question, but seeing how most of the public viewed Kira as a god and thought he had divine power to punish the wicked, he must have had some reason to think he could copy him.

_Unless he just wanted to torture someone, and the end results didn't matter as much._

The idea made me feel sick. I didn't know what was more horrifying, honestly, but either way, it hinted at a deranged psyche.

As for the rest, it was all slipshod. He'd sent a helicopter to get Matsuda even though he'd had no way of knowing whether Matsuda would be bringing the notebook or not. He'd ordered his men to kill him, but they'd failed, and now they didn't appear to be making any attempts to finish the job—no, he was just letting an NPA detective run around hypnotized. If he was smart, he'd know that Matsuda's directive would eventually lead us to _him_.

Programming Matsuda to kill syndicate members might have just been an experiment. I needed to talk to Ide to find out if they'd learned anything at all today.

Not scrubbing the chamber at the asylum was sloppy too. Did he think we'd never find our way back there? Or was he banking on the fact that he'd been careful not to leave enough evidence behind to implicate him?

Leaving this footage behind, though, was different. If we could get someone at the lab to ID him, that would be the end of the case, just a matter of finding him and picking him up.

_Ide said he wants to beat the shit out of this guy…_ I glared at the slender figure on the screen. _I do too…_

If Tero had any idea how angry he'd made us, he'd have to know it could cost his life to leave behind an image of himself. He knew we helped catch Kira; I doubted he was simply underestimating us.

_I guess I'll have to leave him alive long enough to explain everything._

I shook the thought away. Killing him wouldn't erase all the terrible things he'd done, just like dying wouldn't undo my own mistakes. I couldn't let the personal nature of this case push me to do something I'd regret.

Letting those dark feelings take hold would be a mistake, and I decided I was right the first time. I did need to get through to Hideki while I had the opportunity.

"All right," I decided at last. "Mogi, we'll have to take this footage back to Chiyuuda and see what else he can tell us. With any luck, he's an actual employee and they'll have his address on record."

"If they can even make out who he is," Mogi murmured, still peering hard at the screen.

"Right. I'm going to go talk to Ide. Everyone standby."

"What about Max Cooper?" Matsuda wondered.

"One thing at a time, Sergeant."

In the hall, I saw no sign of Hideki, so I found Kei instead, who told me he'd gone outside for some air, adding, "He seems upset," and frowning in concern.

"I'm sure he's fine," I muttered, but as I continued on my way downstairs, I tried to plan out what to say. Coming at him half-cocked wouldn't help.

At last, I found him outside, squinting in the bright sun and studying the ground, dragging occasionally on his cigarette. Even though the frown on his face looked commonplace, something horrorstricken haunted his eyes.

"So, you're still here," I called, to announce my approach.

Ide sighed, like the sound of my voice dismayed him. "Did you find anything?"

"We may have enough to actually make an arrest."

"That's great," he muttered flatly.

"This Tero guy," I said, "seems like a real piece of work. Catching him is one thing, getting him to unprogram Matsuda is something else."

Though he wasn't exactly an optimist, Ide had always had a knack for reassuring me that things would work out; he kept his head, he didn't let his emotions control him, and he thought of things I'd missed. His logic paired with my passion had helped make us a force to be reckoned with. I genuinely hoped he'd come up with something level-headed and supportive to relieve some of my uneasiness.

Being frazzled, though, I imagined it was taking all the composure he had to simply put up his normal walls. It wasn't fair to ask him to be my voice of reason one-hundred percent of the time.

"You okay?"

He gave a slight nod.

"Do you…want to talk about it?"

"Not really."

"You're acting really freaked out."

Immediately, I kicked myself. That was exactly the wrong thing to say to him when he felt upset.

Sure enough, he slid a resentful look my way. "I'm acting freaked out? What about you, busting your hand and screaming at everyone?"

I clenched my broken fist, letting the pain glide up to my elbow.

"That's normal for me. It's not like you to—"

"Let's skip this," he decided, facing me. "No matter what I tell you, you're going to be mad."

"No, I won't, Hideki, just talk to me."

"We have more pressing matters," he announced, like I hadn't spoke. "And I have some bad news."

Not what I wanted to hear.

Getting through to him wasn't working, and if he thought there was something more important, he certainly wasn't about to engage in a long-winded dialogue about his personal feelings.

"What now?" I groaned.

Ide hesitated, though. Gradually, he looked up at me, mouth cocked to one side, eyes dull. "Shuichi… I'm tired. You're…obviously stressed out. Maybe we'd better just talk about all this later."

"Later's not an option," I insisted. God knows we were just waiting for the next catastrophe to strike.

"Okay, fine." Sighing sharply, he dragged off his cigarette again and then began, somewhat icily, "Apparently, Kei saw Sayu and let a little too much information slip. Nothing major, but I guess she knows now that what we're dealing with might have to do with the death note."

"Goddammit." I threw my hands up. "Why would she tell her that?"

"Not on purpose," Ide huffed.

"No one should have been talking to Sayu in the first place! Why did you think I've been screening her calls and keeping her from talking to Matsuda?"

"I'm not the one who spoke with Sayu," he reminded me.

"Yeah. Go figure big-mouth Komagata had to screw this up."

Ide pursed his lips and his eyes narrowed; furiously, he scowled across the street.

I knew I'd pissed him off, so I took a moment to draw a deep breath, struggling not to explode; it wasn't Ide's fault, it wasn't even Kei's. Sayu was good at ferreting out information, and the fact that she knew about the death note in the first place was no one's fault but my own. At the time, making her privy to that information had felt like the right thing to do—for Matsuda's sake—I'd trusted her to keep it to herself, and I still did, but if she chose to take matters into her own hands, she'd have a good idea of where to start.

There was nothing she could do; she was just a kid. Yes, she had a track record for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, seemingly incapably of keeping her nose clean, but it wasn't as if she could _locate_ the death note or would even want to.

_She doesn't have to, to be a pain in my ass. All she has to do is show up somewhere she's not supposed to be._

Obviously, she was determined to do just that, visiting Eriko and now Kei. It was a wonder she hadn't stopped by Matsuda's place yet, but I'd be a fool to think she wouldn't get around to that.

"We should relocate," I decided. "Sayu doesn't know where you live. Unless Kei told her that too."

He slanted an unappreciative look at me. "I don't think Kei _told_ Sayu anything. Sayu's smart, Shuichi. Probably smarter than you and me combined."

"All the more reason we need to go somewhere she won't look for us."

"Sure." He shrugged. "You know how my place is, though. Might be better to rent a few rooms somewhere."

This close quarters crap was starting to bug me, even to the degree that I suddenly thought about taking off down the street, just walking as far as I could until my head felt clear and my spirit felt free again.

I drew another tight breath. All I could do right now was try to handle one thing at a time. "What did you find out today?"

Eyes glazing over with horror, he stared straight ahead, and then murmured, "Nothing valuable. My investigation on the syndicate is ruined, though."

"That's the least of our worries right now."

"You might think that…" He shook his head, as if trying to clear something from his mind, "but…not anymore. At least, not for long."

I asked him to explain, and then he walked me, somewhat haltingly, through their visit with the man named Uko. I got the feeling he was leaving some parts out, but it didn't matter. By the time he reached the end, I felt furious.

"Matsuda really did kill those men," he finished up, heavily. "Even if he hadn't, though, they still want him dead."

"That's not news!" I growled. "I told you guys this morning it was a bad idea to go looking for them!"

"I didn't know," he muttered.

"What do you mean you didn't _know_? Of course you knew! You're the one who's been investigating them—I put you on that because I trusted you to clean it up. I didn't want him anywhere near it! Remember?"

"I remember."

"Then what do you have to say for yourself? You knew taking him over there could put your guys' lives in danger—and it did!"

Ide merely shook his head and sucked harshly on his cigarette.

"Not only that, you openly defied my orders! I expect that from Matsuda right now, but I _don't_ expect that from you, _ever_, Captain!"

He drew a sharp breath.

"I trusted you to back me up, not go off and do whatever you want!"

Flicking his cigarette into the gutter, he immediately started a new one.

"God, Hideki! What? Should I just reassign you?"

At last, he glared up at me, but merely snarled, "No, sir."

"Give me one good reason not to!"

"I understand you're angry right now," he told me in a dark voice, "but I think it would be unwise to reassign me."

"What's that? Some kind of threat?"

A bitter laugh sputtered from his lips. "You can't even control Matsuda. So what's left if you reassign me? Mogi has no reason to follow your orders either."

"That's just great!" I snapped. "Three insubordinate fuckers doing whatever the hell they feel like!"

"Sorry you don't like it. That's the way it is right now." He scowled up at the sky, biting off his words. "Go ahead and reassign me if you want—I can't say I don't deserve that after what happened today—but I am not going to go work on something else while Matsuda is like this. I'll resign if I have to."

I whipped around, mouth falling open. "Ide!"

"Everything is fucked," he informed me stiffly. "Following your orders is impossible because you don't know what you're doing."

Shaking, I took a step toward him. "How dare you? How dare you act like you can't see the position I'm in!"

"I can see the position you're in; that's why I'm telling you: do _not_ reassign me." He scowled into my eyes again. "We don't know what Matsuda's going to do even if he does get his hands on the notebook. We don't know how deep this programming runs. What if it comes down to the security of the death note or his _life_, Shuichi? You want to make that decision on your own? Without me? Be my fucking guest—reassign me."

For a long time, we glared at each other, and I felt suddenly that he might be fading into the distance, getting further and further from my reach. I felt so angry with him; he _was_ being insubordinate, even now, threatening to ignore his assignment. It was call for suspension. But dammit, I didn't want to do this without him.

Finally, I leaned back against the cold wall of the station. "How did it get like this? Matsuda should never have been any different than anyone else working under me."

"Oh, geez," Ide said scathingly, "you can't hold everyone at arm's length. I'll bet that was a real shock to wake up to."

"I'm being serious. I should never have let things get this way."

"Yeah, well, I'm being serious too. That wasn't an option, was it? How could you have even prevented it?"

"I should have transferred him away."

"That's right," he muttered, dryly. "Send everybody away and just do everything by yourself." With a sudden sigh, he brushed the bangs from his forehead and dropped the sarcastic tone. "Even if you had transferred him, months ago, this still would have happened, and you can't tell me you wouldn't have cared. This isn't about someone misusing one of your subordinates."

Even if I'd transferred Matsuda to a completely different region, Sayu still would have called me the night he went missing, I still would have taken five days out of my life to look for him, even if it meant losing my job, and I'd still have a duty to the notebook.

"This is about someone taking your friend, hurting him, and using him to get information you swore to protect with your life." He slanted a narrow glare up at me. "If you think I don't understand that, maybe you forgot who you're talking to."

That was as close, I knew, as he'd come to admitting his own feelings, but I didn't need him to explain any of that to me. When he'd first come back to the taskforce, it had been funny to watch how easily Matsuda had broken down his walls, not even seeming to try, striking up conversations and dictating the way they went, giving Ide ridiculous pet names just to mess with him, teasing him relentlessly about everything from his love life to his taste in music, regardless of his superior age or rank. They'd driven me crazy, bickering constantly and chatting about nothing, but then, before I knew it, they were buddies, always joking and laughing at each other. Even Mogi, after one of the first times the two of them had left to have lunch together, had murmured to me, "Did Ide actually make a friend for the first time in twenty years?"

I remembered how hard it had been not to smile as I'd muttered back, "Looks like it." I'd been glad the little jerk finally let somebody other than me into his life.

Hideki had always been quiet about it, pretending he couldn't care less one way or another, bitching about how annoying Matsuda was, but I knew he'd do anything for him, and I'd been a dick to suggest he didn't care about this. I'd be a fool if I thought reassigning him would actually keep him out of this situation. I just wished we could get on the same page again.

"We have to face reality, Shuichi." He threw his cigarette down, stomping on it and speaking in a definitive tone. "Matsuda is gone."

I studied him a long while, but he took his time turning to me, and I saw genuine pain glinting in his gray eyes.

"Come on, Hideki," I said, softly. "It'll be okay. We'll get him back."

"I'm not saying we won't. I saw him get frustrated today. But…even if he is still capable of feeling _something_, I think we're stupid to keep treating him like he's Matsuda when he clearly isn't."

As expected, he'd side-stepped my attempt to comfort him as if I hadn't bothered.

"How the hell should we treat him?" I demanded, exhausted.

"Like a super soldier."

"He's _not_."

"He thinks he is. I know you don't want to hear this…and at this point, I don't even want to say it, but really, Shuichi, _seriously_, letting him go after this guy the way he wants is probably the only thing we _can_ do. And if we were smart, we'd be as objective about it as possible."

As much as I didn't like to think about it, he might actually be right. Ignoring personal feelings and setting our sights on finishing the investigation was the best thing for Matsuda.

My concern, though, was, assuming I did have to choose between securing the notebook and saving Matsuda's mind, it would be impossible to set emotions aside.

That was that at least. Without saying a word to one another, we turned to go back inside.

Mogi met us in the lobby, carrying the tape he'd brought under his arm, apparently heading out. "I'm going back to the lab," he explained.

I nodded. Ide was right. Mogi was good at taking initiative, but he was under no obligation to follow my orders, and so far, he seemed intent to do whatever he saw fit when it came to getting the notebook back. With so much of his life on the line, I couldn't hold that against him.

Clearing his throat, he glanced around the lobby, like he didn't want to be overheard, and then said quietly, "A package came for you."

I tried to remember if I was expecting anything here. "What is it?"

He shook his head. "I told Matsuda not to open it, but it seems suspicious."

Exchanging a glance with Ide, I headed upstairs, quickly, and this time, as I walked through the department, I didn't let anyone distract me. On a normal day, Matsuda wouldn't be able to sit long with a suspicious package before impulse took over.

Sure enough, when we reached my office, he held a small box in his hands, turning it over and over with frenetic energy. "Hey, welcome back." He barely glanced back at me as he added, "This came for you."

I got a glimpse of it over his shoulder, small and unmarked other than my name scrawled in red: Chief Shuichi Aizawa.

"I have a feeling I know who it's from," he added.

"Okay. Be careful with that."

Already, the dumb ass had started ripping the tape off, and before I could say anything about bombs or anthrax, he'd torn it open and fished inside, producing a small, silver thumb drive.

"Oh, good," Ide muttered after a pause. "More information."


	16. Chapter 16

**Mogi**

"Everything sure is getting crazy," Matsuda commented, watching Aizawa march away to find Ide. "What is up with those two?"

One more time, I reviewed the footage of Tero in the hall, making particular note of his body language, since it seemed to be nearly the only clear thing we could glean from the video, and I got out my phone to take a few things down.

"I've never seen them fight so bad, have you? I mean, I guess I've seen them have little spats here and there, but nothing like this, yelling at each other every single day." From the sound of his tone, Matsuda didn't have any real interest in the rift between Aizawa and Ide, outside his natural inclination to enjoy drama in any shape, and I got the feeling he hadn't even put enough thought into their behavior to form any real conclusions on the subject. In fact, it seemed as though he all but forgot they were at odds until they started bickering in front of him.

But I did wonder about it.

Today, Ide had outright defied his chief, and even though Aizawa hadn't said much about it, I'd been able to tell how much that truly troubled him from the permanent scowl he'd worn all morning and the way he muttered under his breath about, as he put it, stupid Hideki.

Apparently, Ide had chosen to prioritize keeping a personal eye on Matsuda rather than put his full focus into our efforts to locate the death note, and even though, given the circumstances, I understood why, it did concern me that it would only make this more difficult. With any luck, they'd have a reasonable conversation, and Aizawa would manage to rein him in.

In the meantime, we had gotten lucky with this footage, not just of some accomplice or hired gun, but of the alleged mastermind behind the plot, so my best recourse, despite my concern, was to focus completely on my own objective.

Tero appeared to be young and well-groomed, outside of having rebelliously long hair, roguish, almost, in unbuttoned shirt and open blazer. Completely self-possessed, he strode up the hall, not so much as glancing off his shoulder, he paid no mind to the camera, either unaware of it or unconcerned by it entirely, and not once did he hesitate, even as he unlocked the door. He must be familiar with Chiyuuda's clinic, either from casing the place prior—which I highly doubted, after my own tour there—or else from working there. At the moment, I found it most likely that he had been and might still be one of their employees.

"I don't get what the bickering is all about," Matsuda announced, leaning back in his chair. "It doesn't help us, and it sounds like they're fighting about a bunch of nothing."

"They're worried about you," I explained, finishing my notes and turning to a fresh page.

The way Matsuda studied me, he'd all but forgotten anyone had cause to be concerned for him. "I guess. I'm just saying, if they want to help, they need to get it together."

That they did, but I merely nodded. "What can you tell me about Tero?"

"Not very much," Matsuda admitted, after another pause. "I don't think any of his guys are Japanese, but he seemed to be. He knew a lot about Tokyo—sometimes he made it sound like he grew up right down the street from me—but I don't know if he's actually from around here. He just talked about a lot of the places I used to go as a kid, and even the places I go now, like he'd been talking to my sisters, or maybe my mom."

I guessed that might have been some play at getting in Matsuda's head, making him doubt the people in his life and chipping away at him in an effort to uncover details about the notebook.

Tonelessly, he went on. "There's something strange about him. He acts like you're best friends, even if he's hurting you. Like it's all just a game to him."

"Sounds like a sociopath."

"Textbook," he agreed, and leaned forward to study the blurry image again. "You think this'll be enough to help catch him?"

I couldn't help taking my eyes off my notes to watch him a moment, wondering if it mattered to him whether or not we caught Tero.

"Depends. It'll be more helpful if you can ID him in a court of law."

"This is definitely him," Matsuda confirmed, icily. "I have no idea what he'd be doing in a place like that, though. He was careful not to give away any personal details. Except…"

He paused, and his jaw moved as his tongue felt the inside of his damaged mouth.

"Except?" I prompted, out of sheer impatience.

"A couple times, he mentioned his family and how disappointed they are. I could tell he came from money, but he's probably too young to have made it by himself, so I got the feeling his parents still support him, even though he talks like he's let them down."

I backed up the footage and watched Tero stride down the hall once more, thinking again of how comfortable he looked there, how unworried and familiar, not at all the typical thief, racing the clock, who'd stolen an access card and barely knew where he was going.

Come to think of it, when I'd reviewed the list of researchers Chiyuuda had given me, I'd noticed one of them had shared his family name. Takashi Chiyuuda.

"I see," I murmured.

"I don't," Matsuda snorted. "What difference does any of that make?"

"When you don't know your perpetrator, your only choice is to try to understand who he is based off the clues he leaves behind."

Pensively, Matsuda stared at the screen. "I do know Tero," he explained, a little quieter. "He's unpredictable, and he's sick; he doesn't have a purpose. His chaos never stops." Somberly, he looked up at me, and I couldn't help staring at the cuts and bruises on his face. "Just because he got what he wanted doesn't mean he's done."

"We've seen no sign that he's after you," I reminded him, simply because, had he been normal, Matsuda would have been worried about that.

"No, but if I had to guess, wherever he is, he's still doing _something_ completely twisted."

"Besides having the notebook, you mean."

Folding his arms, Matsuda nodded. "If he really wanted me dead, he could write my name down any time now. I think that means he's after something else, I just don't know what."

All the more reason to solve this quickly.

I got up, tucking my phone into my coat pocket and retrieving the security footage to take with me.

"You stay here," I instructed, even though I knew full-well he'd ignore me if it suited him.

"Kay," he agreed, colorlessly.

It occurred to me that it might be worthwhile to take him with me, in case Chiyuuda or one of his team could make an assessment about the state of his mind, but Aizawa had told me one of the NPA doctors had looked at him already, and I doubted Matsuda would be willing to sit still long enough to go through a subsequent evaluation, and in a delicate conversation with Chiyuuda, his energy might prove only to be a distraction. No, he'd best stay with the chief.

Before I could leave the office, old Danuja appeared once more, looking doubly sour compared to earlier. "Where is that man now?" she rasped.

Not knowing, I shrugged.

"He's around," Matsuda chimed in. "Maybe in the bathroom puking up the salad you ordered him."

"Tasteless as always, Otouto-kun," Danuja sniffed, with an air of motherly disapproval, and thrust a small box into my hands. "This came for him. Just one more thing for him to ignore, I suppose."

As she stomped away, I glanced at Matsuda. "Otouto-kun, now?"

"Yeah, some of them call me that," he muttered, like he could hardly be bothered to think about the particulars of his old life. "Not sure why."

I had a reasonable guess; given the way the chief obviously favored him, it wasn't difficult to deduce whose little brother he was supposed to be. Distractedly, I wondered if Aizawa knew he'd failed that badly in separating his personal feelings from his official obligations.

Trying to keep on track, I studied the package, but other than Aizawa's name written on it, it was blank. I doubted he'd be ignoring that.

I placed it tentatively to my ear, listening for any sound that it might be a bomb, though it was far too late for that, and the fact that Danuja brought it to me with no trouble likely meant it was safe.

With a sigh, I set it down on the desk, and even though I knew it meant about as much as my instruction to stay behind, I looked seriously at Matsuda and warned him, "Under no circumstances are you to open that."

Perhaps I made a mistake though. At first, Matsuda leaned on his fist, as if he couldn't care less that Aizawa had received a package, but as soon as I spoke those words, his gaze flickered up to meet mine, taking on an air of interest, and then he grabbed up the box. "What is it?"

"The chief's mail. Do not open it."

"This isn't mail," he murmured, tracing a finger over the bright red kanji written on the top.

"Please don't open it," I repeated, one last time, "and please stay right here."

"Okay, Mogi," he answered, but in the same, careless tone he'd been using on the others, and I knew it was merely lip service. And then he sat up straighter. "Aizawa and Ide are coming back up here, right?"

"I would assume so." After all, he shouldn't be left unattended for long.

Matsuda nodded, still running his fingers along the box, and then asked, somewhat quieter, "What are you going to do to make them stop fighting?"

It shouldn't be odd coming from our peacekeeper—normally, he wouldn't like to see them fight—but the fact that he was looking to me to intercede in such a detail was unusual, a jolting revelation that he did in fact care.

"I can't do anything," I explained, carefully. "But you can."

He lifted a puzzled look to me.

"Stay right here, and when they come back, do what they tell you."

Matsuda frowned.

"This would be much easier on everyone, if you'd do as you're told."

Slowly, he nodded. "Right."

Having done all I could, I headed out, happened to meet Aizawa and Ide in the lobby, so at least I got a chance to warn them about the package and to explain where I was going. I considered mentioning Matsuda's concerns over their sudden strain, but that might only distress them more, and in any case, they scrambled away, quickly, although, if I had to guess, Matsuda would have that box open by the time they reached him, and I walked out to my rental, lost in thought.

Receiving a package with no return address amidst a troubling case was never a welcome sign, but at least it might provide more evidence we could use in building our case. Matsuda's projections about Tero did us no good unless we could catch the man, and at the moment, I had no clear idea of how to achieve that, I simply knew, with every breath I drew, that my life depended on this.

I wished that it didn't. Each moment I spent with Matsuda showed me more and more that he was, in fact, incredibly confused, running wild with no direction, senselessly ignoring our concerns, and after the research I'd done at the lab, I felt surer than ever that he was in a worse state than I'd originally thought.

Even if Tero used a mind control technique to suppress his emotions, he couldn't have done that thorough of a job, and I got the sense it had been more an experiment than anything, with technology he didn't fully understand, leaving Matsuda warped, not unemotional, but incapable of emoting the things he did feel. Even his bewilderment over Aizawa and Ide's rough patch seemed to indicate that it troubled him, as it would, to see them at odds, to know it was all because of something that had happened to him—something he'd done, as he would put it—and although he was trying to comprehend that, he didn't appear to be capable of understanding their duress. Logically, he should be able to observe their actions, as I had, listen to their words, and put together the fact that they were going out of their minds with worry over his condition, and logically, he should respect that, cede to their wishes, even if it was only as a subordinate, and take a step back.

He couldn't, though. His directive wouldn't let him, his emotions couldn't interfere, and where normal Matsuda would be screaming at them by this time, _please stop fighting about me,_ warped Matsuda could do little more than stand aside and try to piece together why their bickering should garner even a fraction of his attention when he had the notebook to deal with.

What a terrible existence. The fact that he couldn't so much as comprehend the full-scope of exactly how atrocious this thing that had happened to him was made it all the more horrific to me.

In less than two days of working on the case, I'd decided, once and for all, I couldn't leave him that way.

Aizawa and Ide would help him, of course, if they could, but being that their own emotions seemed to be badly interfering with their judgment, it worried me they might not be able to.

That, again, seemed to leave me torn between getting my own life back on track and helping Matsu.

Climbing into my car, I remembered the way Near had chided me already for allowing feelings to interfere with duty, but I wondered if he truly understood my position.

No, of course not. Near had emotional depth, so of course he _could_ understand my position, were I to explain it to him. Possibly, if I told him about what had become of Matsuda, he'd be more understanding, take some of the pressure off me, agree to help in the investigation. With his connections around the world, he might know some way, even, to help Matsuda.

_I'll have to look into it._

If Matsuda died over this, that would be a tremendous blow to take, even if I never returned to Japan again.

In mid-reach for the ignition, I paused, staring curiously at the glass on my floor, and then glancing at once to the windshield, where a jagged hole hung just below the rearview, a crack meandered directly across my line of sight, and more glass sparkled on the dash. It looked like a bullet hole, and judging by its position, it had narrowly missed hitting the driver in the head.

That explained, in part, why Ide had behaved so erratically upstairs. He'd almost died, and unlike Matsuda, he had the full range of emotions still to actually process that reality.

If Aizawa found out, he'd be furious that the two of them had come so close to throwing their lives away for clues that didn't matter.

Lucky for me, at least, I had renter's insurance.

Shaking my head and pushing down the sick feeling in my stomach, I started the car.

At once, ferocious growling poured from the speakers, startling me so bad I jumped, and then lunged to fumble with the volume dial.

"Ide," I muttered under my breath. I should have known better than to let him drive my car.

I realized I'd been holding my breath and released it loudly. At least the two of them were alive, but with Matsuda bent on doing things his own way, and Ide determined to look after him even to the detriment of his personal well-being and relationship with Aizawa, that could change in the blink of an eye. If something happened to them, I doubted Aizawa would be able to manage the guilt that would set in, and he might follow them to the grave.

Although I'd never seen Near wrong before, I simply could not believe any of them had been involved in this plot to steal the notebook, and what's more, I'd seen absolutely no sign of it. Why, then, had Near made such an assumption based on such a small amount of data? And why had he not only chosen to stay out of the case, but to leave it in the hands of people he supposedly didn't trust?

_There must be something more._

I touched the security tape lying in my lap. We really needed this evidence.

Setting the radio on my usual jazz station, I drove back to the clinic.

Unfortunately, though, despite Chiyuuda's willingness to meet with me, cooperate, answer my questions, and even view the footage, little could be learned, and no sooner had he seen it, he said, "I'm terribly sorry, Detective. I don't know who that man is."

I studied him, thinking he'd come up with that response all too readily, as if he'd known, even before seeing the perp, what he was going to say.

"You understand," I told him, "that this is a very serious matter."

"Oh, of course! And I do wish I could be of better service! But… Alas!" He threw his hands up in a gesture of helplessness.

"This could be one of your employees," I pointed out. "We need a positive ID."

"Yes, but…again… I don't think it is."

"Then, do you think someone happened into your facility and just found the right room to steal that GPS? In the middle of business hours?"

"That does seem unlikely," he admitted, miserably.

"Could this be a patient?"

"Ah, no. Certainly not."

"You're positive?"

"Yes, Mr. Mogi. I know all our patients personally."

Frustrated, I backed the footage up again and paused it. "Please look hard, Chiyuuda-san. I understand if you don't want to implicate a member of your staff, but without your cooperation, you risk becoming an accessory to assault, at the very least."

His bushy brows knit together as he studied the screen.

"Assault against a police officer," I added. Sometimes, that prompted people to reconsider their position.

"I'm terribly sorry." He shot an apologetic look at me over the top of his glasses. "I really don't recognize that man."

Suppressing a sigh, I stood back and stared at the thief a while, trying to understand, why, assuming he was, he'd lie to me, but only one thing came to mind, an obvious truth I had no clear way of getting around.

Had he hit this wall, Aizawa would explode. He'd shout at Chiyuuda, threaten him with all sorts of charges, intimidate him into cooperating, but I'd never been that sort of detective.

"You consider this to be a family organization, correct?" I asked in a while.

"Yes, yes, as I've said. We're all like family here."

"But a number of your own family members work here with you, don't they? Your wife, for example."

"My family built this company," he agreed. "We've always ran it together."

"Do you have children, Doctor Chiyuuda?"

Ostensibly bothered, he gazed into my eyes. "Only one."

"Does your child help in the family business at all?"

Chiyuuda hesitated, wringing his hands. "Well…he's never seemed all that interested, to be honest. My son has lived a somewhat wayward life."

After what Matsuda had told me in Aizawa's office, that as much as confirmed it for me. There would be facts to check up on—business records and such—to see if I could make any correlations between the Chiyuuda famly and the basic outline Matsuda had given me of Tero, but even without that, I felt convinced.

"Why do you ask?"

"This is very much official business," I explained, "but in some ways, you might also view it as a family matter."

"I see," he said, although I could tell he didn't really.

"The NPA is a tight-knit group," I expanded. "For some of us, it's the only family we have."

That had never been my situation. After fifteen years at the NPA, there had, of course, been officers I'd been fond of, but I'd done well to keep my feelings professional, and it hadn't been until I'd joined Near and had to leave everyone I knew behind that I'd realized just how connected I honestly felt to my fellow taskforce members. Not enough to stay in Japan, obviously, and yet, having practically lived with them for six years, perhaps it would be odd if the sentiments between us didn't mimick the bond of family.

We'd given up nearly everything else. Ide and Matsuda had hardly dated, and the only woman I'd spent time with had been Misa Amane. Aizawa's marriage had come close to falling apart. We'd worked holidays and weekends. We'd given up our homes and our hobbies and our interests. We'd seen one another far more frequently than we had anyone else, and then, when it finally ended, we'd found ourselves in a position of estrangement, unable to connect with, confide in, or trust anyone outside of each other.

This Tero character had dug into that when he questioned Matsuda, and he'd discovered a way to use it to get the death note. Despite the fact that I'd been halfway around the world at the time, it had worked, and it did feel strangely like someone had turned my own brother against me.

Could anyone, even Near, fault me for feeling that way?

"That's very noble," Chiyuuda commented, and I realized I'd been silent a moment too long.

I cleared my throat to go on. "As I've mentioned, several times, this stolen GPS, this research your company conducted, and this young man," I pointed to the thief on the screen, "have all played a part in a severe case of assault against one of our warrant officers. Therefore, the chief of police is handling the case himself."

"As he should," Chiyuuda murmured.

"Depending on what more we uncover, you'll meet my chief. Most would not call him a pleasant man, and he is taking this situation personally."

Chiyuuda frowned.

"You have an opportunity, Doctor, to help me, here and now, before my chief shuts down your organization and hauls you in for questioning."

At that, his face paled, blanching almost completely white.

"I'm sure you have some idea of the procedure that would require. Needless to say, your employees would be out of work indefinitely. Your patients would have to seek help elsewhere. Any and all research done would have to be postponed and thoroughly investigated. It could go on for years, and your name will be irreparably tarnished by the time it ends; if he so much as suspects you've played a role—even complicitly—in the harm of one of his men, Chief Aizawa will make this as unpleasant for you as possible."

"Well." After a pause, Chiyuuda drew himself up. "Be that as it may, I would tell your chief exactly what I've told you. I don't know who this person is. That's all there is to it, Detective."

Finally, I sighed. Intimidation hadn't worked, possibly due to my calm delivery, but I got the feeling it wouldn't have worked for Aizawa either. This man, as best I could tell, was trying to defend his own family.

"I'm terribly sorry, Detective," he said in a while, with an air of sincerity.

I nodded. It didn't matter anyway. Once we caught Tero, Matsuda would be able to ID him on the video, and whether Chiyuuda happened to be connected with him or not would decide the fate of his company. In my opinion, he was simply prolonging the inevitable. My immediate concern was that, without his ID today, we'd have to find some new avenue for locating Tero in the first place. I had really hoped to get a name, possibly even an address, from Chiyuuda.

"There's one last thing," I said, before we left the security office. "And perhaps…in light of everything I just said, it's inappropriate, but…" I shook my head. "Really, it's personal, just between you and I."

Chiyuuda looked warily at me.

"The victim has been badly altered, and as best I can tell, it's because someone experimented on him with the mind control research you and I discussed yesterday."

His face, which had only just recovered its color, went white again, and as he averted his gaze, pressing a hand to his brow, I thought he might pass out.

"How that might play out for you and your company remains to be seen, but I'd like to know, for my own interests, if you know a way to undo that…programming."

"I suppose it depends," he whispered. "As I've said, I didn't have anything to do with that research, so I wouldn't have an answer for that off the cuff."

"If you spoke with the victim, could you make that assessment? Or someone from that team, possibly?"

"I believe…" he heaved a sigh, "that would turn out to be a conflict of interest. Especially after everything you've said today."

And so, it appeared, the Aizawa method had shut a perfectly good window of opportunity.

"It might help. If you're willing to help us…a jury would look favorably on that."

"That's assuming I'm ever implicated." He fixed his tie and then his hair, suddenly. "I'm afraid I don't have any more time for you today. Good afternoon, Detective."

Turning on his heel, he strode out, but I stayed a moment longer, thinking.

At least the trail hadn't turned completely cold; Chiyuuda stubbornly refused to acknowledge the involvement of his company, but some digging into his family and assets could reveal answers I'd come looking for.

In the end, should I feel sympathy for someone who'd played a passive role in this situation?

Even if I did, it wouldn't matter. I'd meant every word I said—when Aizawa found out Doctor Chiyuuda's own child might be responsible for the damage done to Matsuda, I knew he'd come down on this place with the full force of his power, and being that his power remained a thing he had yet to fully grasp, I assumed Chiyuuda's clinic would be destroyed.

Perhaps, though, some good could come of that, if Aizawa's pressure convinced Chiyuuda to help Matsuda.

_I'm being pessimistic again,_ I chided myself, on the way out the door. _When we catch Tero, I have no doubt Aizawa will apply plenty of pressure to _him_ in the way of fixing Matsuda._

At my rental, I hesitated, fumbling with the keys and thinking. Part of me didn't feel like meeting up with the others, and I'd much rather find a quiet place to process and reflect than go back to warped Matsuda or witness Aizawa and Ide falling out. Then again, though, my presence might be paramount now to holding the team together, and I thought, despite the fact that it was unlike me to insert myself into other people's drama, possibly I should at least attempt to mediate between Aizawa and Ide, if only to prevent them from complicating the investigation.

While I stood on the side of the road, debating the issue, the white Subaru I'd seen yesterday flashed by and rounded the corner. This time, I got just enough of a glimpse of its license plate to know for a fact that it was the same car.

**Sayu**

From down the block, Tachi and I watched the police station, but everything there looked normal, officers carrying on with their usual coming and going, and absolutely no sign that anything dastardly might be afoot.

"I don't understand why we're doing this." I turned to Tachi, who leaned back against the planter box, standing in the shade of budding maple trees.

"To try and help Touta," he reminded me, casually.

"Yeah, I know that part, but I don't see the purpose of sneaking around. Why can't you just give this to Aizawa?" I waved the box he'd handed me at him. No larger than a deck of playing cards, he'd left it completely plain, aside from writing Aizawa's name on it, and when I shook it, something made of plastic rattled loosely inside.

Tachi's piercing eyes watched me, refusing to blink. "Please keep that out of sight, Sayu. I think I'm being followed now."

"Who's following you?" I demanded, slipping the box back into the pocket of Touta's jacket, quickly, and then scanned the street, but I knew enough to realize if someone was watching us, they wouldn't be obvious about it. "The people who kidnapped Touta?"

"Well, it could be," Tachi agreed, with a thoughtful air, "but I suspect it's one of my superiors. I've deviated too far from my mission by going after the information in that box."

"They don't want you to have it, then?"

Gravely, he nodded. "Well, more to the point, they don't want Chief Aizawa to have it. If I try to meet with him at all, they'll know what I'm doing."

Even after speaking with Tachi every day all week, the real details of his mission remained murky, I couldn't even guess at whether or not he had the ability to contact or see Aizawa, who honestly he worked for, or who'd sent him to look after me.

"That's why," he explained, in a careful voice, "you can't let anyone see that you have it. You just have to take it upstairs. To the proper department."

Again, I looked up at the station, watching the sun glitter off its hundreds of windows and trying to pick out which floor I thought was the correct department—my father's old department. I'd been here more times than I could remember, but since Dad died, I didn't know if I could stand to go inside, and I didn't want to.

I heard Tachi's expensive shoes scuff the concrete as he moved in closer, and then his breath fluttered on my neck while his voice whispered in my ear, "Don't be nervous. It's perfectly natural for you to come here, especially since you're looking for your fiancé—no one will question it—but they will question where this package came from and how you got your hands on it."

"What should I tell them? I don't even know what's in it."

"It's best that you don't know. In fact, it's probably best if you don't talk to anyone at all."

I couldn't help frowning at him, but he looked dead serious about that part, even the easygoing smile he normally wore missing. "How am I supposed to give it to Aizawa if I can't talk to anyone?"

"You're smart, Sayu." He lay a hand on my shoulder. "I know you can do it."

"Yeah, but," I faced him, just stalling now. "You said we can't trust Aizawa. Why are you suddenly trying to give him information?"

Tachi sighed, like it was all very difficult to think about, and he spent a few moments adjusting his stance, studying the station, and then looking around the street, before he finally said, "I told you I don't know if we can trust Aizawa. I don't know if we can trust anyone." He shook his head, sadly. "That is, I know I can trust you, Sayu, and I promise you can trust me, but outside of that, I'm afraid we're on our own."

All because of the death note. It had begun to look like Light hadn't stopped at taking my father and fiancé away from me; thanks to him, I'd lost the entire NPA. Even the detectives I'd known all my life. Even the ones who'd cried at my father's funeral.

Tachi gestured, vaguely, to the pocket where I'd placed the box. "Regardless of where Chief Aizawa stands, he needs that information, Sayu." He looked pleadingly into my eyes. "It could change his mind, get him back on our side, or, at least, ensure that he _stays_ on our side."

I was careful not to touch that pocket, not wanting to let on to what it concealed, but I watched the bright spark of earnestness in Tachi's eyes.

"Once he sees that," he went on, lowly, "I have reason to believe we might be able to start trusting him again, and if that happens, he'll, hopefully, let you see Matsuda."

Heart hammering in my throat, I choked out, "You…really think so?"

"I do," he confirmed at once. "I wouldn't ask you to do this if I didn't think it might help. I—"

He stopped suddenly, jerking his chin toward the station, eyes narrow, and I looked over my shoulder to see a single man standing just at the entrance, struggling to light a cigarette and muttering to himself. It looked like Ide.

Accordingly, Tachi pulled me back, crouching down behind the planter box and leaning around it to watch Ide.

I kept my eyes on him also, but he looked extremely agitated, jacketless, stomping back and forth in front of the door and smoking obsessively, continuing to talk to himself. I'd never seen cool, aloof Hideki Ide act that way.

When I told Tachi as much, he hissed back at me, "Yeah, me neither."

I remembered, from my childhood, how Ide and Aizawa had always been together, the way they exchanged looks only the two of them could read, and how they sometimes finished each other's sentences. Since I'd started dating Touta, I rarely saw them apart; they still communicated about ninety percent without words, and they still completed each other's sentences, but with my newfound adult perspective, I'd come to realize that meant they knew each other ridiculously well—better than some married couples did—so they'd obviously spent the last twenty years attached at the hip.

I remembered that Eriko had mentioned Ide's role of shielding Aizawa from any questions he didn't want to answer, and I had no doubt that if the chief was doing something he shouldn't be, Ide would be helping him simply for the sake of his personal feelings, but that didn't mean he'd like it.

I whispered to Tachi, "If Aizawa's doing something illegal, it would be really hard on Ide."

Solemnly, Tachi nodded.

As we were watching, Ide slowly ran out of steam, and then leaned back against the wall of the building to finish his cigarette and start another. Not long after that, Aizawa himself arrived, picking his way tentatively toward Ide. Side by side, they murmured indistinguishably to one another.

My heart sank as I studied them. I wanted to run up to them and tell them everything, ask them for the truth, and even if they just patted me on the head, told me nothing, and sent me away with empty promises that everything would be all right, I just wanted to feel like they were on my side, standing in for the father I'd lost.

And then I felt angry. They should be helping me, if only out of respect for Dad. Even after they'd promised my mother at Dad's funeral that they would be there, no matter what, to look after us, I couldn't go to them for help.

How would my father feel, I wondered suddenly, to know his little girl couldn't turn to two men he'd always trusted and cared about?

"This is your chance," Tachi hissed. His eager eyes met mine, red clashing with green as the hair fell in his face. "You know the back way in, don't you?"

"Yeah. I can slip in through the parking garage, but if they catch me inside—"

"Just tell them you're looking for Matsuda, and we'll try again later. Now go. Go."

"Okay," I murmured, steeling my nerves and taking a few deep breaths. "Okay…"

"_Sayu_!" Tachi pushed me, and I stumbled to my feet, trying to look casual and move quickly as I went for the corner of the building, glancing hurriedly at Aizawa and Ide, but also trying not to draw attention to myself.

Once I'd gotten around the corner, I loped for the parking garage, ducking through a gap in the wall to avoid the security booth. Light had showed me that when we were kids and we used to play here, waiting for Dad to get off work. It wasn't a place for children, but everyone had looked the other way for the chief.

_Can't think about any of that now._

As I neared the entrance to the building, I slowed my pace and kept my head down, again, trying to act natural. Police came and went, heading out to their cruisers, or coming back from a site. A few gave me curious looks, but nobody stopped me. They might recognize me, but even if they didn't, I was just a little girl—nothing to be concerned about.

Inside, everything had stayed just as I remembered it—old but well-cared for floors and walls, bright lights, and austere colors. I could almost see my brother and I, chasing each other down the hall, laughing and racing. So many times, I'd walked this very way with my father, excitedly telling him all about my day, or my plans for the summer, while he gave me that indulging smile and reminded me to take my studies seriously. Such a kind and honest man.

Kind, honest men seemed few and far between these days; I'd been lucky to meet Tachi, I realized, but I still refused to believe that _my_ kind and honest man could have turned against everything he believed in, jeopardizing everything he was supposed to protect.

It just wasn't possible. I had to believe that the next time I saw him, once I'd explained everything, he'd be outraged by it all. He'd be angry with Aizawa and Ide for not helping me, he'd hold me, and he'd make everything all right.

_No. I can't think about any of that either._

At a quick but inconspicuous pace, I clipped down the hall and into the main part of the building. There, I paused to look first at the receptionist, who paid no attention to me, and then at the entrance, half-expecting Aizawa and Ide to walk in at any second.

They wouldn't hurt me, though, right? Even if they'd betrayed their vows to uphold and protect the law, even if they weren't going to help me, they'd never do anything to me…

_I don't know. I haven't got enough information._

Aizawa had said they lied about the death note to protect my mother and I. He and Ide had information that could ruin my life.

With another deep breath, I slipped quietly across the lobby to the elevator, but changed my mind and dove into the stairwell instead.

I ran up a several flights of stairs, and then burst out again, checking my surroundings. I didn't know what department I was in, but it wasn't the right one, so I slunk to the elevator, jamming the button, and waiting impatiently, a little afraid of who might be standing there when the doors opened.

Tachi had said if I ran into Aizawa and Ide, I should tell them I was looking for Touta, but that was easier said than done when I was so angry with them. If I came face to face with them, I didn't know if I'd be able to keep from yelling at them, and I was worried that, if I started talking, everything would slip out.

_I just can't believe they're not trustworthy…_

Those men worked with my father. They helped bring Kira to justice. They'd worked tirelessly to protect the notebook. I couldn't imagine what it would take to turn them. Money? Some threat? Promises of power? Maybe something too dark to even dream of…

_What could be good enough to betray my father over?_

Luckily, the elevator was empty, and I got on, trying to slow my breathing and the wild beat of my heart by clenching the box in my pocket. This was all to get Touta back—to help a man I knew to be good—anything was worth that to me.

_If I find you, I promise not to pry or ask any questions. I just want you to be safe._

My ride up took forever. Here and there, the elevator stopped, and someone would get on. Each time, I held my breath, but other than curious glances and polite greetings, no one paid much attention to me, and soon enough, I'd reached the floor I needed.

Knees quivering, I got off and looked around again, to make sure I'd come to the right place.

Aizawa's department was quiet. The short hall led to another reception desk, this one empty, and beyond it, dozens of detectives sat at desks, working sullenly on their investigations.

Still struggling to look casual, I approached the reception desk and glanced at the name plaque, which read Danuja Amagami. I remembered old Danuja—she'd been my father's secretary while he was chief—I could only guess she must be Aizawa's as well. If she found a box with his name written on it, she'd give it to him.

Hurriedly, I tore the box from my jacket pocket and practically flung it onto the desk, checking around to see if anyone had noticed me, but they were too busy.

_That'll have to do._

With any luck, it would actually help.

I turned back for the elevator, chewing my lip, wondering if I even dared to hope Aizawa and Ide might still be talking outside. I'd hadn't been in here that long, but I'd never known men to have lengthy conversations. They'd be back any second.

As I reached the doors, a voice called out. "Yagami-san! Is that you?"

I froze, muttering, "Oh no…"

Reluctantly, I turned to face the detective coming toward me. I recognized him from when my father had been alive, but I didn't know his name. All the same, he smiled warmly at me.

"Oh, Yagami-san, I thought that was you! I don't know if you remember me." He stood over me, beaming. "I'm Tenma."

"Ah… Yes… Tenma-san. I do remember you," I lied. "How have you been?"

"What can I say? It's been a difficult couple of years." His smile dropped into sadness. "I'm terribly sorry, Yagami-san. Your father and brother were such excellent detectives."

"Thank you very much." I bowed, politely, and he bowed back.

"What brings you by today?" he wanted to know, now that the condolences were out of the way.

"Just…needed to talk to the chief." I tried to smile.

"Oh, shall I let him know you're here?" He turned back toward the department, as if he'd race off to find Aizawa at a word from me. Another good man who'd known my father but whom I suddenly couldn't trust.

"No, no thank you, Tenma-san. I saw him already." I tried to look cool, but in my pockets, my fists tightened.

Confused, he glanced toward where I assumed Aizawa's office stood empty. "Just now? I thought…?"

"Yes, I spoke to him. I do appreciate your help though."

"Anything for Deputy Director Yagami's daughter," he said at once, smiling again. "Are you taking the elevator down?" He pushed the button for me. "Here. I'll walk you out."

"Actually." I backed toward the stairwell. "I was thinking of taking the stairs. I need the exercise. Thank you, Tenma-san."

"Oh! Well, then. Tell your mother I said hello!"

"Yes, sir, I will. Goodbye now."

With supreme confidence, I pushed through to the stairwell, and then ran all the way back down to the ground floor and out the back door again. When I reached the corner, Aizawa and Ide still stood at the entrance, seemingly arguing now, but Tachi was gone.

**Matsuda**

"Where exactly did this come from?" Aizawa wanted to know, turning the flash drive over in his hand and then holding it up to the light, as if he could stare through to figure out what kind of information it came with.

"Where does anything come from?" I examined the box it had come in, and the distinct handwriting, harshly slanted and a little bit sloppy. I didn't recognize it. "Danu-san brought it in."

Ide took the box from me. "It doesn't look like it came in the mail. Somebody must have dropped it off in person."

Grumbling under his breath, Aizawa turned to leave the room, taking the drive with him.

"We should see what's on it," I called, but he stepped out like he hadn't heard me.

I looked at Ide, finding the intense frown he'd worn ever since we left Uko-san's club.

"What?"

He shook his head. "Nothing, Matsuda."

"Get over it," I suggested. "Nobody died."

"No, but the syndicate will probably come after us now, and that's the last thing we need."

"Did you tell Aizawa what happened?"

"Some of it, yeah." He slouched against the wall. "I didn't tell him you almost executed five people."

"Yeah, why not?"

"He'd put you behind bars," he muttered, still looking over the box, like he could find more evidence if he stared at it long enough.

After what he'd said today, I'd realized they were probably right—it was dangerous to let me pursue my directive—so far, I didn't know why they hadn't tried to lock me up somewhere, but if they did, I might have to kill them.

That thought sat numbly inside me, like a quivering pool of molasses, just another fact of life. Nothing could stand in my way, especially not when I was getting so close.

"All right." Aizawa bustled back in, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Danuja says this package just appeared on her desk a little while ago."

Ide went rigid against the wall, and he suddenly tossed the box back onto the desk. "Depending on what this is, we'll have to check with security and see if they noticed anyone suspicious coming into the building. Maybe look at the cameras."

With a sigh, Aizawa set the flash drive down. "Right. Depending…"

They really wanted to waste time doing a lot of unimportant stuff; as far as I was concerned, it didn't matter _who_ brought the flash drive, so long as we could learn something from it.

It looked cheap, and it didn't have a lot of memory.

"We should have it analyzed," Aizawa muttered, standing back next to Ide with his arms folded. "Just in case."

"I think if it was dangerous, something would have happened by now," Ide mused. "But maybe we can get fingerprints from it."

"Hard to believe any suspect would drop this off here. It's like they _want_ us to have all the evidence we need to convict them."

"Or they're arrogant."

"Unless it has nothing to do with the case at all."

All three of us frowned down at the flash drive.

"Hey," I said, "let's pop it in and see what's on it."

"I want to have it analyzed first," Aizawa insisted. "X-rayed."

"That'll take all day." I looked back at him. "Why are you dragging your feet?"

"Because," he growled, "I'm not sure I'm in the mood to see what's on it."

"Why? What do you think it is?"

He fixed an intent look on me. "What do _you_ think it is?"

"I have no idea. That's why I asked."

Aizawa and Ide slowly looked at each other. Ide shook his head, and Aizawa murmured, "You said they made a tape."

"Sure. But this isn't a tape." I grabbed the flash drive before either of them could think to stop me—I'd gotten so much quicker than them—and jammed it at once into the computer. "Besides, it's kinda dumb to not look at a piece of evidence just because you're afraid of what it might show you."

"Matsuda," Aizawa said, sternly, but his authority seemed to wane with every passing moment as he realized, more and more, that he couldn't get me to obey. "Just wait until we know more about where this came from."

But the autoplay had popped up already, and I clicked on it. The next folder contained two files—a PDF and a video file. I went for the video.

"_Matsuda_." Aizawa clamped a hand down on my wrist, but he was too late to stop me.

With two easy clicks, the video came up, dark and unsteady. Heavy breathing panted out of the speakers, and then a chilly, familiar voice invited, "C'mon, Touta, say hi to the camera."

From out of the blackness, another voice croaked, "Fuck you…" pained though, half sobbing, and then a white shape appeared.

"Oh my god," Ide whispered. He made a move for the mouse, but I blocked him out, studying the screen.

"Really, now, don't be rude," Tero scolded. "Don't you want to show your friends that you're okay?"

The white shape came into focus—a small man in a dingy cell, tied to a dentist's chair, black fringe hanging in his eyes, crimson gushing from his gaping mouth.

Next, a face loomed in the screen, eyes seeming to glow, smile sharp and icy. "Good day, Chief."

At my shoulder, Aizawa drew a tight breath.

"I know you've been looking for your lost, little soldier. Well, here he is." The face disappeared, showing the man in the chair again, twitching and yanking hopelessly on his bonds. "Safe and sound."

The camera zoomed in on the prisoner's face, illuminating the blood and bruises.

"Seriously, Touta. Say hello to your chief. Maybe it's the last time he'll ever hear your voice at all. Don't you want to give him some comfort before you die?"

"Fuck you… Fuck you…"

"Yeah, yeah. That's all he's been saying for hours. Pretty rude, your little soldier. Especially considering how polite and cheerful he's always been in the past."

The camera shifted, a moment of silence passed, and then Tero said casually, "Let's see if I can get him to say goodbye to you."

Shadowy against the black backdrop, he passed the camera, and the prisoner in the chair started to squirm and beg. "No. No… No! Please! I'll say whatever you want! I'll do whatever you want! Just don't!"

The knife came out. I remembered its ivory handle and smiling blade. I remembered how it felt, jammed beneath my fingernail and cutting through my flesh.

Pathetic begging turned to violent screaming, but even it didn't drown out the calm sound of Tero's voice scolding, "I told you, Touta. You do what I say. That's the only way this works."

Helplessly, the prisoner thrashed, and the camera zoomed in on his terrified face, where I saw a sparkle of tears.

Something inside me shuddered. My tongue found the gap in my mouth where healthy teeth used to be. My stinging fingers curled into fists.

_That's…me…_

I took a slow breath; the air filling my lungs felt like a knife in the side still, and I remembered how they'd beaten and kicked and stomped on me until I'd thought I was going to die, how begging and screaming and crying had only made me feel humiliated and wild, like an animal.

On the screen, Tero ripped the last of my fingernail off, turned it over in his hand, curiously, while I broke down into furious tears, and then tossed it on the ground like it was nothing. The tip of the knife disappeared inside my mouth, and the sobbing stopped immediately, like he'd touched a switch.

His icy voice murmured, "I've been nice so far, not cutting off something that won't grow back. Haven't I?"

Emphatically, I nodded, still sniffling and whimpering like a child.

Tero's free hand brushed the hair from my forehead, gently. "So do what I say, Touta."

In person, he'd been terrifying—steely like a machine, ruthlessly violent behind that guise of friendliness, the complete lack of emotions in his eyes, no matter what he said or how he said it—he didn't need a knife, or pliers, or any weapon to make me obey.

The nodding turned resigned.

"Good." Heartless gaze back on the camera, he pointed his free hand. "So tell him. Tell him how much you need him to come save you."

With that, he drew the knife from my mouth, dripping blood and saliva, and I started immediately, "Ai-Aizawa…please, God! Please, I need you to come find me."

The camera focused on my face again, watching the tears roll from my eyes and the blood ooze from my lips, the snot drizzle from my nose. My teeth gritted in a wince, while mists of shame and fear filled my eyes, and I stared at the floor. "He's gonna kill me… Ai… He's gonna kill me… And I can't… I… I _need_ you to stop him. I need you to help me!"

Tero smacked me in the head, not very hard, but he laughed when my whole body convulsed. "Look at the camera, you little faggot. Tell your chief how much you fucking need him."

There was so much guilt and so much humiliation as I finally looked at the camera, and I remembered feeling that way—hating myself for begging and for giving in so easily—but I couldn't feel it now. I couldn't feel _anything._

"Shuichi…" I moaned. "Oh my god… Please don't let me die like this."

_I can't even feel afraid to die anymore…_

Suddenly, I let go of the mouse and turned away.

Aizawa and Ide stared at me like they were going to be sick, but I stalked past them and out into the hallway, where I hesitated for a second, still listening to that voice—_my_ voice—pleading for rescue I knew now would never come.

_But I can't feel disappointed. I can't feel hurt or betrayed. I can't feel relieved that I survived. I don't feel strong or weak or scared or ashamed of myself. I don't _feel_ anything._

_ That's not true_, I told myself as I started up the hall, stomach shuddering, hands trembling. _No. It's not quite true…_

Deep inside, something did stir to life, like an ember getting a breath of unexpected breeze just before it went out. I wanted to feel again, even if that meant being scared or ashamed. I wanted to live, even if it meant I lost everything I'd ever had. I wanted to trust Aizawa, Ide, and Mogi—guys I considered friends—and I wanted to love Sayu, the way I had the night they took me away from her.

_I don't want to feel so dead._

How did they steal so much by doing so little? And why wasn't it complete? How could I watch myself being tortured without even a touch of fear and yet still care about the fact that I felt so very lost?

_Why do I care? I just need the notebook._

Outside, I stared up at the cloudy sky.

Something went wrong, very, very wrong, when they programmed me—it must have—because if they'd done it right, this conflict wouldn't exist at all. The notebook would be all I cared about, not leaving a gap for anything else.

Very specific wording made me this way, but Tero was no professional. No. He was just a sociopath looking to try new things: brain washing and supernatural murder tools. He didn't know what he was doing, and he'd made a mistake somewhere.

In my head, his voice hissed, _You're going to get the notebook and bring it to me. You're going to care about that more than anything else, and you're not going to let any feelings stand in your way._

But he didn't say I wasn't going to feel anything at all. He could have, and I wouldn't. That's how hypnosis worked. At least, I thought so. It was complete control over my mind, unbreakable, until someone snapped their fingers and said the magic words to bring me back.

_What other mistakes did you make, Tero?_

Not understanding why, I drew the photo from my pocket, more creased and worn than ever before, and I didn't understand either why, every day, I kept getting up, putting on a new pair of pants, and religiously retrieving the photograph from yesterday's suit.

_Because there are still emotions in me. Because I want to look at this picture and see me, with Sayu, happy and smiling, because I _want_ to feel happy again…_

But those emotions were getting in the way.

I pulled Ide's lighter from my pocket and set the corner of the photo on fire, watching the couple crinkle and blacken.

That man was gone anyway—his weakness of wanting others' approval had died, his fears about failing had vanished—and only the directive remained.

_Get the notebook. That's the only chance I have at all of ever finding my way back. And I want to. I want to so bad._

Dully, I tried to remember how things used to be. For nearly as long as I could remember, I'd wanted to be a police officer—a detective—even though nobody had much faith that I'd be any good at it. I'd studied and trained. I'd been determined to prove them all wrong. But even after I made it into the NPA, regardless of how happy it made me, I'd learned quickly that I probably never _would_ be good at it, because the job required so many skills I'd never had.

_Why did they do this to _me_?_

I reached into my jacket to feel my pistol, thinking about how I'd nearly executed Uko-san and his men. Between my skills with a gun and lack of true emotions, it seemed like I'd become some kind of killing machine.

Almost ten years ago, when I first entered the academy, if someone had told me I could be anything close to a killing machine, I would have laughed them right out of the building. Anybody who'd been around me a few minutes would have laughed about that, even if they'd seen me shoot.

The first time I'd seen Chief Yagami had been at the range; I didn't even know who he was at first. He'd come up behind me, and when I'd heard the instructor blurt out, "Good day, Chief," I'd paused to look back at him. But Chief had said, calmly, "Don't mind me, son," and I'd tried to focus on firing. Even though his being there, watching, had totally wrecked my concentration, when I'd run out of rounds, he'd said, thoughtfully, "Mmm, Matsuda, isn't it? You have a real aptitude for this."

Compared to the rest of the men in my class, I guess I had; some of them had been scared of the gun, or squeamish about the recoil, but I'd liked it all right from the beginning—the smell of powder, the noise, the feel of the kickback shooting up my arm. Maybe it was just the first time I'd felt invulnerable, and I'd known it was something I could get good at; it was something that could make me useful.

For years, I'd practiced as much as possible, going to shoot any time I felt lonely, restless, bored, trapped, or ineffective, and in the end, it had paid off.

The day we'd gone to retrieve the notebook from Mello, as we waited for Light's signal, and I was sitting apart from the others, fidgeting, trying to slow the beat of my heart, the deputy director had stood over me. "Are you nervous, son?"

"A little, sir…"

"Well, don't be. You're good—you know that."

"Yeah, but I've never shot at a person before…"

"I know, Matsuda." Even now, with the haze of apathy and the voice in my head screaming for the notebook, I couldn't forget how he'd laid his hands on my shoulders, looking meaningfully into my eyes, and sometimes I looked back on that moment and wondered if he knew somehow that he was about to die. "If there was ever a time to put that skill to use, though, this is it…"

_What would you think of me now?_

With some dismay, I realized I didn't care what he'd think. I didn't even remember why it had ever mattered what he thought.

In a little while, I heard the door open, and then Aizawa stepped up, staring at me.

"What are you doing?" he asked in a moment.

"Thinking about my directive," I lied. No point in giving him false hope.

Nodding, he leaned against the wall next to me, and I noticed his hands were shaking as he slipped them into his pockets, but I didn't bother to check out his expression. I was pretty sure I could imagine it okay.

"How much did you watch?"

Aizawa snorted, "Too much."

It must have been hard for them to see even a few moments of that, and it was a wonder he could come to me like this, so calm. From the corner of my eye, I checked on his expression after all, but I was wrong—I hadn't expected the agonized wince on his thick lips or the helpless look in his eyes as he gazed down the street. To look at him, you'd think he was the one who'd been tied to that chair, getting tortured, begging for help from someone who couldn't even hear him.

Seeing that footage took me back to terrifying nights, lying in chains on a cold floor, listening to every sound and driving myself crazy, mostly afraid it would be Tero coming back to hurt me more, but always hanging on to the faint flame of hope that, somehow, it would be Aizawa and Ide. I'd played it over and over in my head how it would feel to see them again, to know I was safe and going home to Sayu. I'd dreamed about it so vividly that when I woke up and realized it wasn't real, I'd gone into hysterics. Still, there'd never been a doubt in my mind that they _would_ find me, eventually.

"It's okay that you couldn't," I muttered suddenly.

"I don't think so, Matsuda," Aizawa whispered back, running a hand over his goatee. "And…I don't think… If you were normal, you wouldn't feel that way. It's not okay that I couldn't help you."

"Well, I wasn't mad when you came and got me at the gas station; I was just happy to see you."

Even now, I couldn't forget the shock of that consolation. At the time, I hadn't been able to remember everything I'd just escaped from, but turning around and finding Aizawa and Ide there, looking hilariously unprofessional in their street clothes, raggedly tired, clutching their guns and almost collapsing from their own relief, had filled me with peace, replacing all my fears with the idea that everything would be okay. Even after my interrogation at the station, it never crossed my mind that they'd failed me.

Aizawa studied me, and I realized I'd made a mistake giving him even that much to hold onto. "It's not okay with me," he announced.

By this time, I'd definitely seen that Aizawa's guilt was going to tear him apart for the rest of his life, just like, after this morning, Ide could probably never look at me the same way again.

Some day, that might actually matter.

"I was thinking," Aizawa started up in a low, uncertain tone, like he barely knew who he was talking to. "Earlier, I was thinking about what a jackass I've always been to you, ever since the day we met. How I just never took you seriously. Like you said the other night, you only ever wanted me to like you, and I couldn't even just be…friendly."

"Oh." I turned to him. "That's weird to bring that up now."

"Is it?" he asked, still in a distant tone of voice, and his eyelids drooped. "I'm not so sure. Anyway, I just wanted to tell you I'm sorry for all that. After seven or eight years of my treating you like an idiot, I can't believe you actually trusted me to help you…but I failed. Not because I didn't care, though, Matsuda." He faced me at last, looking like someone had stabbed him in the lungs, gasping, "I really did try."

"That's why it's okay," I explained. "I know all that. I've always understood a lot more than you ever gave me credit for."

"Yeah," he sighed, scraping his fingers across his bushy hair, and then he was quiet a long time, eyes shut, mouth twisted with agony.

"I wonder if I'll remember any of this," I mused.

Aizawa glanced at me. "Why wouldn't you?"

"I don't know. I can't remember killing those three syndicate guys. Maybe I won't remember this either. Maybe it'll just be like waking up from a bad dream."

He whispered, "I guess," and I tried to imagine how that might feel to him and the others, but like everything else, I only had the vaguest sense of how unfair it would be.

"I hope I don't," I admitted. "I don't think the real Touta Matsuda could handle any of this." I scuffed at the charred remains of the photo at my feet. "Not even just the memories."

Aizawa faced me, and I finally met his gaze, interested to see how the pain had deepened in his eyes, turning them bright, almost golden. "First of all," he said, but only with the slightest shred of his old authority, and I knew this was destroying him. "You are still the real Touta Matsuda, it's just that you're incredibly fucked up right now."

"I don't feel like Matsuda."

"I know, but you also don't realize how much you still act like him. And if you were really gone, if I really thought there was no getting you back, I might just let Boko have you, train you to be a killer, and try to forget all this. But I can't do that, because…" His voice sank. "For me, it's like you never came out of that room. I know you're not asking me to help you…and you don't _feel_ anything, but you are Matsuda, and I can't give up on you."

"Maybe you should, though. I mean, I'm way more useful like this."

"Not really," he spat. "Even from a professional point of view, I can't see how you're any good to me this way." His brow creased, thoughtfully, and he said, "I wonder if you're even any good to _Tero_ like this."

"I doubt it. Like I said, I was supposed to die on the helicopter; he might not even realize I'm coming after the notebook, depending on what his guys told him." One thing I'd noticed while they were holding me, his men were terrified of him, and I doubted Golden Teeth would have been eager to explain how I'd gotten away, so the fact that he was still running around, alive and well, made it seem like Tero might not even know I was alive.

"Wait a minute…" His eyes widened as it came to him, like it had to me earlier. "In that case, he really screwed up."

I nodded. "I doubt he wanted me to do all this."

Pessimistically, he muttered, "If he thinks you're dead, why would he give me that video today?"

"Maybe just to screw with you. Anyway, dropping it off in person means he's still nearby, so maybe he knows I'm alive after all."

"If he's changed his mind about killing you, he might want something else from you."

I'd thought the same thing, but since I really had no idea what else Tero could want, I said, "Maybe. Or he might just be enjoying the show. That seems more like him."

He shifted and exhaled sharply, rubbing the bridge of his nose, so I knew that idea made him angrier than ever. "Matsuda… As long as Boko and Near both expect you to retrieve the notebook, there isn't a lot I can do. Unless you tell me you don't want to do this. That would give me something to work with."

Stubborn Aizawa could make a lot happen using very little. All I had to say was that I wanted to quit, go home, relax, and he'd dig his heels in, stop the investigation cold, and channel his energy into making sure I got to do that.

While I thought it over, he coaxed, "_Logically_, it doesn't make any sense for you to be on this case. You know that, right? We can get the notebook back without your help."

_Get the notebook, get the notebook._

"You're right," I agreed. "It makes sense for me to go see someone, try to get back to normal, while you guys work on the case."

"That's what I've been saying." He crept closer, a ray of hope touching his voice and even his eyes.

"Well, I've always _known_ that, Aizawa, but…"

_Get the notebook. Get the notebook. Get the notebook._

"But I'm not sure you get it. I don't _care_ about whether or not the notebook is safe, I'm programmed to go, in person, to wherever it is, so I can take it to _him._"

"He already has it, Matsuda," he reminded me, desperate and impatient. "As far as we know. What are you going to do if you find him? Take it away so you can hand it right back?"

I shrugged.

Aizawa gritted his teeth, hissing, "I am so sick of you shrugging at me… Look, you hear what you're saying, don't you?"

"Like we said, he screwed up."

Frustrated, sputtering, he slammed back against the wall. "You're telling me you have a directive you can't even complete!"

I met his gaze again, unflinchingly. "Now you see why I think I'm going to die."

"Stop saying that!" he exploded suddenly. "I told you I don't want to hear that!"

"I don't see any way around it—"

Aizawa snagged the front of my shirt, jerking me close to growl in my face, "Do you honestly believe I'd _let_ you die?"

"No, but I didn't honestly believe you'd let me be kidnapped and tortured and programmed into a sleeper cell either."

Mouth falling open, he emitted a pained gasp, and I watched the agony dull his eyes, making him look old and worn out.

"It's just a fact," I explained. I'd believed in him and trusted him implicitly, probably more than he even knew. More than was wise. "I never would have thought—"

Lips curling back in a snarl, he shoved me into the wall. Pain shot up my injured side.

"What did I tell you about saying things without thinking?" he shouted, both hands fisted in my shirtfront.

Calmly, I grabbed his wrist, twisting his hand from my shirt and wrenching his arm back until he froze, cursing and looking furious.

"Goddammit, Matsuda!"

"I know you'd never stand by and let me die," I told him, coldly. "But I don't believe there's anything you could do to stop it." Ramming him back with my shoulder, I stepped by, and he gaped at me, rubbing his wrist. "This sucks for you. I get that. I don't know what else there is to say about it. There's nothing you can do, Aizawa, and you might as well accept it."


	17. Chapter 17

**Aizawa**

Over the Kira case, we'd all gotten used to hotels and out-of-suitcase living; Ide, Mogi, and Matsuda more so than I, seeing how I had a family to try and get home to as often as I could, but there had been more than enough nights I'd passed out where I sat, exhausted by the questions still buzzing in my mind.

After I became chief, I'd really thought those days must be over for good, and as I stood in the foyer of our suite at Sunroute Plaza, I couldn't help sighing. Why did they always look the same, no matter how expensive? Charming at first, done in calm colors and high-grade materials, but chintzy the longer I stared around. Generic. Not home.

Grudgingly, I checked my phone. In the last four days, I'd missed about fifty calls from Eriko, and at least a hundred angry text messages. Funny. It felt like weeks since I'd seen her or the kids, and when I tried to remember what I'd told her on Satuday, before everything went wrong, all I could come up with was some crap about being back in time for dinner, a promise as generic and cheap as the room I currently stood in.

Since then, it felt like all she'd ask was _what's going on,_ and all I could tell her was that everything was under control, and I'd be home soon. Damn lies.

Wouldn't I love to give her the truth? Wouldn't I love to have her bossy mouth telling me what I should do while her loving hands promised everything would be okay? What wouldn't I give to rest, even for a moment, in the safety that came from holding her in my arms?

I shouldn't be surprised if this case turned out to be the last straw for her. This past decade had pushed our marriage to the brink, and most women wouldn't put up with it if their husband simply vanished one morning and didn't check in for days at a time, and even though Eriko had never been like most women, she had her limits.

Squinting in the light of yet another sunset, I stared out the portrait window overlooking the city. _What if I go home tonight? Would I get there in time to fix everything?_

Only my own paranoia and pessimism stood in my way at this point.

Ide shuffled past me to dump his duffle on the floor beside the couch, and I watched him from the corner of my eye. He'd been able to go home and at least pack a bag, so now he looked composed, showered and dressed in a clean polo. Only his face revealed lingering signs of disquiet from watching the video.

That goddamn video. I'd spend the rest of my life trying to shut out that image, but I'd never be able to block out the sound of Matsuda's voice, begging me to help him.

I knew because, even a year later, the Reaper's tape of torturing and murdering Izanagi Chiba still kept me awake at night and haunted me in the day, a constant reminder of mistakes and outright failure.

Carelessly dropping his own bag in the middle of the foyer, Matsuda began exploring the suite, a routine I'd more than gotten used to. Back in the day, even with Ryuzaki watching and Soichiro growing impatient, he'd always had to go jogging through the rooms, like a puppy dog, shouting excitedly about the amenities and touching everything.

Today, he took his time, limping first to the mini bar to take out a shooter bottle, kicking it back at once and grabbing another. On top of investigating injured and deranged, he seemed determined to do it half-drunk as well. In his Original Fake t-shirt and black slacks, he looked caught between professional and off-duty, just as he had in the video.

God. I'd _known_ he must have gone through something excruciating the second I'd seen him at the gas station, and what little he'd told us had made my stomach drop, but I'd never thought I'd have to sit by helplessly and watch, or listen to him scream, let alone hear him beggingme for help. As much as Tero had forced him to say those things, the desperation in his voice had been real. He had wanted me to come and rescue him, and I had no excuse for the fact that I'd been unable to.

I didn't know how to stop feeling angry with myself for not knowing—magically—exactly where to go, for not showing up right at that moment to beat the shit out of the monster I'd seen on the camera.

As I watched him drift aimlessly around the suite, sticking his head into the bedroom and lingering at the sunny terrace door, my guilt threatened to crush me.

Of course he didn't care about my apology. He wouldn't. He was the kind of person who'd blame himself for all of it—out of the belief that he's weak and useless. For all I knew, he'd do some mental gymnastics and convince himself he'd deserved all that.

"Hey, Sparky," Ide called quietly, "c'mere."

Sipping from what had turned out to be a bottle of rum, Matsuda wandered back toward him, eyes fixed intently, but unbothered, on Ide as he dug into the duffle he'd thrown down.

"What?" he asked, with a note of suspicion. The longer this went on, the less he trusted us, completely oblivious to the way he was wearing the two of us down.

Ide produced a meager first aid kit he'd apparently bought at a drugstore and set it on the coffee table. "Sit down," he muttered, even as he got up to wash his hands, and Matsuda dropped heavily into the couch.

Keeping my place in the foyer, I watched Ide clean the k-shaped slashes on Matsuda's arm, apply antibiotic ointment and sterile dressing, which he wrapped loosely in clean gauze.

I clenched my broken fist. Ide had always been good at things like that. He had some inherent interest in first aid anyway, and he had the level-headedness to utilize it even in a traumatic situation. Honestly, I wouldn't have even thought to tend to Matsuda's injuries.

Matsuda sat quietly through the process, drinking his rum and gazing disinterestedly around the hotel room.

Right after Soichiro had died, I'd watched the two of them go through a daily procedure of changing each other's bandages. Matsuda had always been a baby about it. Ten days ago, he would have been whimpering and jerking away, but tonight, he didn't so much as wince at the hiss of peroxide.

For all his newfound staunchness though, I had begun to suspect that fear still existed inside him. After all, he'd expected to watch Tero's video without flinching—he'd thought of it as simply another piece of evidence—but after less than a minute, he'd been the one rushing out of the room, face marred by a disturbed expression. Ide and I hadn't been able to stomach more than a few seconds more than him, but the fact that he didn't want to relive that moment, even if it meant finding vital clues, showed me Ide was wrong—Matsuda wasn't completely gone—and it was the first time I'd seen anything take precedence over his directive.

_I wish he wasn't so weak. I wish he didn't trust and respect me so much. I wish he would just come to realize it's far more my fault than his, and that he'd resent me. That way, I'd never have to go through letting him down again._

_ How did it get so fucked up?_

"It's not too bad," Ide announced, finishing up with the gauze, and then went so far as to lay a hand on Matsuda's forehead, leveling him with an analytical gaze. "No fever, no chills, right?"

"Nothing like that," Matsuda confirmed, dully.

"You still should have been taking care of it," Ide scolded. "You're a sleeper cell, not a five-year-old."

I supposed, even though he'd been the one to suggest we treat Matsuda like a super soldier, he couldn't bring himself to.

"I just didn't think about it."

"You'd better _start_ thinking about it. You need to rinse your mouth, too."

"Okay, Ide," Matsuda said, flippantly.

Nonetheless, Hideki put on his best big brother voice. "I mean it. We've got the penicillin, but if you start getting red streaks up your arm, we'll have to take you to a doctor. You'll _beg_ us to."

We both knew a little pain wouldn't drive him to that point.

"Okay," Matsuda repeated.

Sighing lightly, Ide got up to throw away trash and stow his first aid kit back in the duffle, while Matsuda limped to the bathroom to rinse his mouth, grabbing another shooter of rum along the way.

Ide sent me a long look, and then glanced around the suite as soon as our gazes touched. "Three beds, four of us. I don't know about you, but I'm sick of sleeping on couches."

"Maybe I'll go home," I practically whispered.

"Your call." He eyed me again. "Doesn't make a lot of sense, though, paying for a suite and not staying in it."

"Boko will reimburse me," I muttered, though I wasn't sure. Boko found us right before we'd left the station, demanding an update, but between Hideki's breakdown, the video, and the way Matsuda had overpowered me outside, I'd been too frazzled to answer his questions with any accuracy, and Matsuda had taken it upon himself, listing off facts and describing events with all the emotionless precision of a machine. He'd gone so far as to assure the director the case would be over soon. He'd never had much capacity for lying, so I assumed he honestly believed that.

If Mogi could get a positive ID on Tero, we might have it wrapped up by the end of the week, but Matsuda had brought up a good point: he'd endured a lot of serious trauma lately without being allowed to process it. Even if we salvaged his mind, he might suffer a complete breakdown.

"If I don't go home," I muttered, practically to myself, "I'll stay on the couch."

Ide frowned. "Will I get in trouble for making my chief sleep on the couch?"

Slowly, I shook my head, not looking at him. I didn't feel like Chief Aizawa anymore. Ide didn't treat me like his chief. I didn't know how to make him open up, and I couldn't do anything about his insubordination.

Shifting his weight from one leg to the other and back, Ide pushed the misfallen forelock from his forehead. "Shuichi…"

"I don't mind sleeping on the couch," Matsuda informed us in his typical, generous way, as he re-entered the room. "I'm the only one who hasn't lately."

Had his mind been normal, I had no doubt he would have given up even his own bed at his apartment so none of his guests would be uncomfortable.

Nice kid. I wanted the old Matsu back so bad I could barely get my mind around it.

For some reason, then, I thought back to Christmas 2012, mere weeks after Soichiro had died, a month before we'd apprehended Kira. It had been such a tense time, we'd worked around the clock, even on Christmas Eve—it took a long time for Eriko to forgive that—and even though most of us had worked through the holiday without a thought to it, Matsuda had put on some pop Christmas music, broke out a bottle of eggnog and bourbon, got buzzed, and eventually crashed face down on the couch, leaving the rest of us to roll our eyes and grumble about what an unbelievable dork he was; no one had said too much about it, though, seeing how he'd also brought Christmas cake, KFC, and a gift for each of us. Despite the fact that nobody had thought to bring him anything, he'd alternated between saying it was the least he could do and how he'd known us all "forever."

In the end, listening to him sing himself to sleep without scolding him, tossing a blanket over him, and solemnly taking over his workload for the night had been the best and only thanks anyone had given him.

Guilt struck me all the harder. Past his tendency to whine, Matsuda had always been considerate and unselfish, and I wished I'd appreciated that more at the time.

Today, a callous stranger stared at me from across the room.

_I can barely stand the cold machine he's become._

Ide breached my thoughts to snort, "No one's made you sleep on the floor because you're hurt," like it was the dumbest thing Matsuda had ever thought of.

Giving us each a measuring look, Matsuda shrugged and flopped onto the couch again. "Whatever you say."

"Wouldn't that be nice," Ide said under his breath, and then turned to me again, and I tried to remember if we'd spoken to each other at all after seeing the video. If we had, it was just for me to say I'd better find Matsuda, and for him to mutter again about really going home this time.

"You could just go," he suggested, in an unusually kind tone. "Matsu and I will be fine on our own until Mogi shows up."

After the stupid thing they'd done this morning, I seriously doubted I could trust them by themselves.

"It's fine," I mumbled, finally leaving the foyer to sit on the couch and get out the laptop I'd brought with me. "I have work to do anyway."

Taking a loud gulp of rum, Matsuda leaned over my shoulder. "What are you working on?"

"Researching Max Cooper. The least I should be able to do is find out if he's using an alias."

"Doubtful," he scoffed. "Golden Teeth is stupid."

"I hope so."

"What should I be working on?" Ide asked, taking a seat on the couch opposite us.

"Do whatever you want, Hideki," I muttered automatically, and then, to his black scowl, amended, "You acted like you know about that car he was driving. See what you can dig up on that."

"How about me?" Matsuda asked, as if he hadn't been ignoring me for days.

"I don't know, Matsuda." I massaged the bridge of my nose. The headache had persisted all day. "Just relax and keep quiet. Take a break."

Rubbing his swollen cheek, he sank back in the cushions. "That's all I've done today," he complained.

"Not what I heard. Seriously. Just relax and don't distract me."

I added that last part purely out of habit, but for the rest of the night, he only grumbled a little about having nothing to do; before I knew it, he'd fallen asleep next to me on the couch, still clutching a mostly empty shooter bottle.

"He's just about shot," Ide commented quietly, looking over the top of his computer. "Every day he runs himself all the more ragged."

If we didn't solve this soon, he might collapse under the strain.

_Where did I go wrong?_

Tero had planned this—he must have stalked Matsuda for at least a little while before kidnapping him—and I could't understand how I'd missed that.

"Luckily," I said, "Max Cooper does seem to be a real person. He's all over social media, bragging about moving to Tokyo from Australia."

Ide snorted. "Why would the mastermind involve someone stupid like that?"

"Who knows? Tero might be an idiot too, or maybe Cooper has some special skill he needs." I didn't want to think about what that might be. "What about the car?"

"Classic Celica A20. Not the most popular model these days. If we alert the patrol units to watch for it, I imagine we'll have him in a day or two. Otherwise, we can check with dealerships around town, or look into the possibility that he shipped it here."

Having more than one option to catch a suspect was the first light of hope I'd seen since Matsuda first was kidnapped. "If Cooper is stupid, like Matsuda says, we can probably get it out of him who Tero really is."

"Make a deal with him?" Ide wondered, in a reluctant tone.

I wrinkled my nose. "I'm not cutting deals with any of these fuckers. They'll be lucky not to get shot on sight."

_Or_, I thought, darkly, _I'll make them wish I _had_ shot them._

Barely squeaking, the suite door eased open, and we both turned to watch Mogi step in, shutting it just behind him, body language calm, expression troubled, and for a long moment, he stood there, like I had, staring around the room and then at us in turn. He took his coat off to hang it up in the closet, removed his shoes, and padded softly over to sit down next to Ide. Once there, his shoulders heaved in a deep but inaudible sigh.

"What's up?" Ide asked around his cigarette, still tapping at his computer.

Mogi shook his head in dismay. "Nothing."

I paused in my note taking to study him. "What do you mean nothing?"

"Dead end."

"God," I growled, slamming my pen against my paper. "Why does it seem like all we _ever_ get is dead ends?"

Next to me, Matsuda stirred and murmured without opening his eyes, "What dead end?"

"Your sociopath is lucky as hell," I snorted. "Go back to sleep."

"I'm not sure he's lucky…" Mogi murmured, sighed again, and stood up. "Should we order something, or should I cook?"

"Wait a minute, wait a minute," Ide interrupted. "What do you mean you don't think he got lucky?"

Mogi shrugged. "Just a hunch. I'm not sure I feel like cooking—let's order room service."

"Mogi," I growled. "What's this hunch?"

"It's not solid, Aizawa. I just think it's possible Chiyuuda was covering for someone."

I scowled up at him. _"Pretending_ not to recognize the thief?"

"Maybe. But even if you question him, I'm not sure he'll admit it."

"We'll see," I snarled. "He might change his tune when he finds out he's making himself and accomplice in kidnapping and attempted murder and…and…" I waved my hand at Matsuda, "whatever you want to call _this_."

"I think he already knows that." Mogi picked up the phone to order dinner.

"Do you think he'll hold out even if he's about to lose his company? Researching mind control, letting it get into criminal hands…contributing to the brainwashing of an NPA officer."

"Massive lawsuit," Ide muttered dryly.

I frowned at him. "I'm serious!"

"So am I. Matsuda could sue. Hell, maybe _I'll _sue. I almost died today."

"There you go," I snapped, glaring at Mogi. "We'll ruin this guy."

But a stoic, "All right, Aizawa," was all he gave me, and then began taking orders.

I kept working until room service came, struggling to keep my focus and not let my aggravation get the best of me, and the others stayed totally silent. At our urging, Matsuda had some soup, but like yesterday, he didn't get much down before giving up, and then he shuffled off to bed, still drinking rum. As the night deepened, Mogi and Ide called it quits also, and by midnight, I sat up alone on the couch, staring at my computer.

We had enough on Cooper—for now—and so I found myself going to the mini bar as well, taking several shots of cheap whiskey before going back, plugging in the thumb drive, and, with a deep breath, starting the video. Headphones on, I sat in the dark, watching, but it was worse than I imagined.

Horrendous things happened, too many to count, the audio was horrifying, and my heart beat sluggishly, like it was pumping sludge. I clenched my fists until they hurt, but I didn't dare look away. Tero sent this to _me_ for some reason. Toying with me, maybe. Fucking with me. After only a few minutes of studying the dark glee in his eyes, I could easily imagine him packing up the drive and hand delivering it to Danuja's desk, just for the kick it might give him to imagine me reviewing the footage.

I drank more alcohol and made myself focus. There had to be something—some insignificant detail—to make it worthwhile to sit and watch hours and hours of Matsuda being tortured.

Two hours in, my jaw ached from gritting my teeth, and my chest felt tight from holding my breath, but the only thing I'd deduced was that Tero was, in fact, a bonafide sociopath, absent of any remorse, taking sadistic pleasure in torturing the information about Kira out of Matsuda. Many of the things I saw him do seemed to serve no real purpose, threats both physical and psychological; sometimes, he made good on them, and sometimes, it seemed he simply suggested them for the evil joy it brought him to watch his victim beg for mercy. Little by little, I watched Matsuda break down and start giving up information. Even then, though, Tero offered sick and malicious rewards designed to chip away at Matsuda's sanity.

It left me with no doubt that, even if we got him back, he could be scarred for life.

_If_ we got him back, I should dismiss him, I decided, transfer him to another precinct, and stay away from him. What other option did I have? Hover over him the rest of my life and worry myself to death every second we were apart? How could I ever sleep comfortably again after this, without wondering where he was and if he was okay?

Apparently, the footage had been edited—there was no way of knowing what went on between those gaps—but in time I came to realize it didn't matter. Even if I'd gotten this video while Matsuda was still missing, I didn't see anything that would have helped me find him, and soon it seemed I only kept watching to punish myself for not being there.

Deputy Director Yagami—Chief Yagami, at the time—had asked me, when Ryuzaki had him detained, to look after Matsuda. He'd specifically ordered me to take my command over him seriously, and I had. For his sake, yes, but also because, especially back then, Matsuda needed someone to keep him in line. By the time Ryuzaki had the chief and his son released, I'd gotten used to bossing the kid around; his desire to please me and prove himself had made him easy to manage, but I'd been careful not to lose sight of my responsibility to him.

_Even if you were just a coworker, I'm not sure I could separate myself from this devastating guilt._

I'd never been good about letting people down.

Barely breathing, I shut my aching eyes, but the audio played on, and it must be the most horrifying part, the harshest illustration of how much he'd suffered and how much he'd needed me.

Matsuda reminded me of a kid I knew in elementary school—this twerp who didn't fit in and got picked on a lot. I stood by a long time before finally stepping in to help, but I couldn't. I got my ass kicked by some bigger kids, he eventually transferred to another school. That's a regret I'd lived with all my life, something to keep in mind during my career as a policeman, after I made it my duty to protect the weak.

_You're not like that, even if you think so. Maybe you just never learned to stick up for yourself._

None of that mattered now. Whether he was weak or not, whether I was tough or not, I let this happen.

Swaying, drunk, I jumped off the couch and tore the thumb drive from its port, chucking it across the room as I staggered to the door, choking and heaving with the maelstrom of rage and guilt that threatened to tear me apart.

_I let this happen…_

Under the black, night sky, the bustling city felt lonely and terrifying. I got into my car and broke down there, gripping the steering wheel and pressing my face against the horn until it echoed through the parking garage.

_ How could I let this happen?_

Matsuda always thought I was something I wasn't; even if he wasn't all fucked up now, I doubted he'd be angry with me the way I was angry with myself.

I made a mistake. Instead of trying so hard to protect him, I should have shown him how to be stronger. And then, maybe…

_That wasn't my responsibility. I can't take the blame for it all. It isn't my fault sick people do sick things._

Someone else—someone tougher—could cope with the damage and recover. Not me. I'd be a basket case if I went through any of that. But it would take a true super solider to endure that hell and come out okay. Matsuda, when he got his emotions back, wouldn't be able to hack it.

_That's _if_ he gets his emotions back._

Either way, it looked like I was running over the edge of a cliff, hurling toward a point where getting him back, exactly as he had been, might be impossible.

When I'd composed myself, I started my car and began to drive, heading to the only place I wanted to be.

**Eriko**

For over fifteen years, I'd prepared myself for the sound of heavy-handed knocking at three in the morning, always knowing it would be followed immediately by the news that my husband had been killed, and yet, when it came, jolting me out of uneasy sleep, I still wasn't ready.

By the time I checked the clock, I was shaking already, and it hurt to breathe. Clenching the front of my shirt, I slipped through the dark, downstairs, and stood in the hall, staring at the door. Suddenly, I was overly aware of everything—my bare feet, cold on the floor, the smallness and frailty of my existence, the thinness of the walls that were supposed to shelter me and my children, the raw vulnerability, the bitter helplessness of facing a life without Shuichi.

_You damn idiot_, I thought, storming for the door, tears already scalding my eyes. But I was not going to let Hideki see me cry.

At the door, I drew a sharp breath, just as the knocking echoed through the house again, threatening to wake the kids.

A scream clawed at my throat as I threw it open, and I even wondered, if I just shouted at him right away, maybe he'd leave without saying anything, and I could spend the rest of the night pretending Shuichi was going to come up and crawl into bed beside me.

My husband stood on the door step, coatless, tieless, shirt flying open, fist raised to knock again, looking lost. Behind him, his car sat with its front wheels blocking the sidewalk.

Transforming into a painful sigh of relief, the scream eased out of my lungs, and I leaned heavily into the door frame. "What are you doing?" I hissed. "Don't you know what time it is?"

"No," he muttered back at me. "No idea."

"Well, it's three-thirty, Shuichi. What's the idea, coming here beating down the door, waking everyone up, at three-thirty in the morning?"

Lips curled in a permanent wince, my husband stared back at me, and something horrible haunted his eyes, like he was looking at me for the very last time.

"What's going on?" I insisted, staring past him to see if he was alone. "Is everyone all right?"

His breath hitched and he held it, nodding heavily. "Just…let me in."

Shaking my head at him, I stepped to the side. "Where's your key?"

"I dunno." He lingered outside. "Can't find it."

Automatically, my hand plunged into the pocket of his slacks, yanking the keys out and holding them up for him to see.

He blinked stupidly at them.

"Are you _drunk_?"

"Mmyeah, huh, yeah. Little."

Fury started to simmer in me. "Let me get this straight. You disappear without a word, refuse to call me back, and then, in the dead of night, you wake me up banging on the door because you're too drunk to find your keys?" I scowled at the car parked halfway across the sidewalk. "Did you _drive_ here like this? Shuichi, you're the chief of police!"

"Er'ko…" he muttered. "C'mon, Babe. Lemme in."

"It's your house. Just come in!" I snapped, barely remembering to keep my voice down.

At last, he lumbered in, fingers scraping the wall for support, and I watched him stumble halfway down the hall before he stopped again, heaving a ragged sigh.

"You inconsiderate _jerk_," I growled, shutting the door and flicking on a light. "What is the matter with you?"

Shuichi stood leaning on the wall, head hanging. "I jus…needed to be here…"

"Oh, out of nowhere?" Through my outrage, I reminded myself that something terrible might have happened—he looked upset enough—and then I tried to take a deep breath and let the anger cool. "Where's Hideki?"

God, if that idiot died, nothing could fix that.

But Shuichi slurred out the words, "Sunroute Plaza."

Thank God.

"Where's Touta?"

"W'th Hideki…"

Another sigh of relief slipped through my teeth. "Everyone's okay?"

Shuichi shook his head. "No. Yeah… They are…but…" He tapered away there, and it had been a long time since I'd heard such confusion and hurt in his voice.

I touched his arm, staring up at his face, trying to understand the sharp lines of agony that had appeared on his forehead. "Are _you_ okay?" I asked, gentler, but it was stupid. If he was okay, he wouldn't have shown up like this.

My husband checked himself over, clumsily, as if expecting to find a mortal wound, and I noticed his right hand was bruised, swollen, and gashed. "Mmhm. I'm fine." Jerkily, then, he faced me, staring down into my eyes with that horrible look on his face. "I missed you."

Inconsiderate jackass that he was, it was good to see him.

I slipped my arms around him, pressing my face to his chest and taking a deep breath of his shirt. It smelled like he hadn't changed it in days, like he'd gone without bathing, and there was a hint of whiskey hanging onto it, but it was a sultry, comforting scent, familiar, provoking memories of lying in bed with him, sometimes at early morning, sometimes in the dead of night. No matter how angry he made me, that smell and those memories would always remind me how much I loved him.

With a quivering breath, he wrapped me in a firm but gentle embrace and rested his cheek on my head, holding me for a long, long time.

"Babe," I murmured into his shirt. "What's wrong?"

"Ev'rything's wrong," he grated out. "Ev'rything's so wrong…I can't remember the last time an'thing was right."

"It's been a long time since _you_ were all right," I agreed quietly.

_All because of damn Kira._

Ever since that monster appeared, it seemed I'd been watching the love of my life vanish, gradually replaced by a scowling, tight-lipped stranger. At times, I thought it had started the day Yumi and I found him crying on a park bench, but then, always, I remembered we'd been fighting long before that.

Reverently, his fingers traced up and down my spine. "Yeah," he agreed, thickly. "But…I really fucked up, Eriko…"

Sadly, I looked up into his tortured eyes again, and he ran his thumb along my jaw.

"I'm sure you didn't really," I whispered, gently catching his injured hand. It felt cold.

Heavily, he nodded, an indiscernible response.

"Well," I breathed, "come on." Still holding his hand, I pulled him into the living room. "I'll make you some tea, and we'll talk about it."

All along, I'd known there'd be nights like this. I had such a stubborn, fearless husband, they'd been few and far between, but again, since Kira, they'd become more frequent, and this was the price I paid to be with him.

Shuichi all but collapsed onto the couch, rubbing his cold hands together and gazing distantly across the room. I squeezed his shoulder as I stepped out to go to the kitchen and make the tea, shooting a glance up the stairs as I passed to make sure the kids hadn't woken up.

_Why am I always making tea?_ I thought as I watched the kettle boil. _It doesn't fix anything._

Some problems, I'd learned, had no real solution anyway, despite my desire to face everything and conquer; especially problems that weren't really mine in the first place. Just like poor Sayu, coming here looking for her lost love. The little lamb. Making tea and giving her a few minutes of my time had been all I had to offer.

_Shuichi's problems are my problems_, I reminded myself. _Til death do us part._

Not bothering to pour a cup for myself, I took the tea back to him. Though he hadn't moved, he sat with his eyes shut, forehead ribbed, like his head hurt.

"Have you had a lot to drink?" I asked, handing him the cup.

"I guess so," he muttered. "That video… It was too much."

"Video?" I took a seat next to him, pressing lightly against his side.

"I can't really tell you about it."

"It's a need to know thing?"

Shuichi shook his head. "It was just horrible."

"Did it have to do with your investigation?"

"Yeah. The sonnova bitch who kidnapped Matsuda sent it to me… I-I don't wanna to talk about it."

Based on the way poor, little Touta had acted while he stayed here with us, I probably didn't want to know anyway.

Notwithstanding, Shuichi whispered, "They really hurt him, Eriko. I let them."

"You would never _let_ someone hurt Touta," I corrected, softly.

"No." He shook his head again. "But I couldn't help him. It's the same."

I didn't understand that logic, but it aligned with his overall sense of responsibility, that anything bad that happened on his watch was his fault, and chalking it up to simple failure wasn't enough. With him, it always had to be about where he'd gone wrong.

"Is he okay?"

Eyes flickering open, he stared across the room, as if asking himself that very question, and he didn't seem to come up with an answer, but he said, "He'll… I guess… That depends."

Growing more concerned by the moment, I watched him slowly sip his tea, eyes glazed by alcohol, and he didn't seem to be quite the same Shuichi I'd kissed goodbye last weekend. Yes, he'd been stern then, and distracted by work, he'd looked troubled, but he'd also been strong, focused and determined, ordering Hideki and Touta around, promising he'd be back in time for dinner. He'd been confident and reassuring—a true leader.

Now he looked broken.

"Can't you tell me what's going on?" I asked gently, not knowing why I bothered. It had been so long since he'd told me anything about his life.

Shuichi toyed with a loose button on his shirt. "When this case is over, I'm retiring."

Unsure of what to say, I studied him. No matter how difficult things became, he'd never said that before. "Why, Shuichi?"

"Twenty years is a long time," he grumbled. "Why not?"

"Yes, but you've only been chief for one year, and you've always told me it's going fine." That was his mantra from the moment he took the job. _It's going fine_, and nothing more, no matter what happened or which questions I asked.

"It is. Being chief isn't the problem."

"Then maybe you shouldn't retire…" As much as part of me would love for him to quit and be safe, I knew he'd go crazy without anything to do, and he wasn't the type of man who could simply substitute his life as a detective with renovating the house or rebuilding a classic car; he needed the struggle of good verses evil, justice against wickedness.

For as long as I'd known him, he'd been that way. No, I'd never been thrilled that the man I fell in love with was a detective, but he'd been good at it, committed to finding the truth, and I'd admired that. To see him like this, ready to give up after working so hard for so long, broke my heart.

With a heavy groan, he set his tea down on the coffee table, lowering his head and sliding his palms up his thighs, shoulders hunched like he was cold. "Eriko…there's so much you don't understand…"

A bit sternly, I reminded him, "I would if you'd communicate with me."

Communication had always been one of our major pitfalls, even before we had the kids. Shuichi acted like he didn't want to burden anyone—including me—with his softer emotions, and if he ever felt weak, he seemed to think that was something he had to face all alone. Dragging the truth out of him had proven to be exhausting, and over time, I'd ceded to his wishes out of simple exasperation.

So much I wasn't allowed to know about had happened in the last decade, and without understanding the cause, I'd watched him change, trying to hide my worries, telling myself that if my husband felt he couldn't be open with me, I may have failed somewhere along the path of our life together, but ultimately, it wasn't my responsibility. I had two children to raise, and oftentimes it seemed I had to do that alone.

"I _want_ to tell you ev'rything," he whispered. "No more secrets. There's just so much…"

Tonight, he was so distraught, I didn't know if I dared to let him be.

I leaned over to take his hand in mine, feeling it tremble. "C'mon, Shuich," I urged gently. "Talk to me."

Taking a breath, he shuddered and suddenly began, but when he'd said everything, he _meant_ everything. Before I knew it, Shuichi had waded back into events from seven years ago, and even though, at first, he covered things I knew already, he soon stepped over his sacred line of need to know only, and from there, each thing he said sounded wilder and wilder. Still, he spoke so casually about Light Yagami, monsters, and preternatural notebooks, I had no doubt that this really must be the truth. My sense of wonder clashed with dread, and soon, horror eclipsed everything.

When he finally finished, it was past four in the morning, and he sat with his head in his hands, as if unable to hold up any longer beneath the weight the secrets he'd just told me. "I don't know if you believe any of that," he murmured, voice muffled, "but it's the truth."

"It certainly explains why you haven't been able to tell me much lately," I said, carefully, and then reflected.

Shinigami and the so-called death note were things I could hardly get my mind around; I might not truly ever believe them unless I saw them with my own two eyes, but then again, Kira would have to have had _something_ supernatural on his side. Why not a god of death?

Come to think of it, Sayu had mentioned a notebook the other day.

It felt like I was trying to swallow a rock now. My husband spent more than six years chasing ghosts, and I could hardly believe he'd succeeded. Now I knew he hadn't really. That L person had.

Sayu also told me Matsuda shot Kira, but even coming from my husband, that was hard to imagine. Harder still to understand was that Sayu's brother had been Kira all along. Shuichi had worked with him. His own father—the deputy director—had been killed by him.

Here I'd thought the death of noble, young Light Yagami's had been so tragic; once, I'd been glad my husband had someone like that on his side, and now that I realized he would have killed Shuichi and Hideki and the others if he'd had a real chance, I could hardly stand the sick, hateful feeling in my stomach.

"Sorry, Babe," Shuichi said, quieter still. "We've had nothing but trouble since Light died." He sputtered a cynical laugh. "That little fuck-job, misleading us for six years, letting us believe we could accomplish something… We can't even hold ourselves together now that he's gone; dead more than a year, and we're still paying for everything he did…"

That horrible case last year, the one that had had me crying nearly every night, watching the news to see the roster of victims, begging Shuichi to quit, so angry with him for not listening… That had been because of Light also. On his path to create a better world, he'd broken my family.

"Why are you telling me this now?" I wondered. "After keeping it a secret for so long." I swallowed hard, still fighting with the imaginary rock. "Does it have to do with the investigation you're working on now?"

Before he said anything, I knew the answer. It was just like Sayu and I discussed the other day—our men were still dealing with Kira, and maybe they always would be.

"This case," Shuichi moaned. "It's barely even an investigation…"

"What does that mean?"

Face still buried against his hands, he shook his head. "I fucked up. I fucked up so…_so_ bad."

It wasn't unlike him to take full responsibility for whatever went awry while he was around, and still I'd never heard him sounding so regretful and tormented by guilt.

Heart clenching, I watched his agonized form a while, going back, yet again, to the original question of _why_ he'd come home this way.

I reminded him, cautiously, "You're a good officer, Shuich—a good boss. I know you make mistakes, but you have to stop torturing yourself over everything that goes wrong."

"Torture," he echoed, and then suddenly drew a gasp and sat up, grasping my hands, tightly, and meeting my gaze with damp eyes. "I know that, I know that," he sputtered, with a frantic edge, and then his voice sank. "But, this time…it _was_ my fault, and…and I'm not sure I can live with it."

My blood ran cold. "What are you talking about?"

In a hollow voice, he went on, "All my life, I've told myself it's okay to make mistakes as long as I always take responsibility for them—what more could anyone expect of me? I know I'm not perfect. But this time…" His voice caught in his throat. "Someone else is paying for my mistakes, and I don't know if he'll be okay… Everyone's paying. Hideki almost died today."

Fear fluttered through my heart. Could _that_ be the reason for this collapse? When we'd first met, Shuichi had talked about his partner a lot, and I'd detected early on that that the two of them were more than coworkers. When I'd met Hideki and seen them together, I'd come to realize it was more than that—Shuichi felt responsible and protective of him—he loved him, and that love, whether they admitted to it or not, went both ways, complicated, in some ways indefinable, but tireless and strong.

I'd never forget the night Hideki cornered me in the bathroom hall at a bar we'd all gone to, and how serious and almost angry he'd looked as he'd growled, quietly, "Don't you dare ever hurt him."

But I'd simply laughed and patted him on the cheek, answering warmly, "I won't, but you've got to promise you won't get yourself killed; he'd never get over that."

At the time, Hideki had merely stared at me, shocked by my reaction, and skeptical about the possibility that Shuichi might love him just as much as he loved Shuichi. In time, I'd come to understand he felt a different kind of love, but, regardless, I'd seen my husband come apart more than once over watching his best friend get hurt.

I clutched his hand, whispering, "Hideki's okay, though. You said so. And whatever happened, I'm sure it wasn't your fault."

"I don't know," he said, lowly. "I don't know if he's okay… He's been so…"

He trailed away, and his eyes darkened.

"But he's not hurt, right?"

"No. It's just that I failed him—and Matsuda and Mogi—as a chief and as a friend. I've failed all my guys—my whole department." Reluctantly, he met my gaze. "I've failed you too. And the kids. And Matsu…I don't know how I can ever look him in the eyes again after what I allowed to happen. I don't know…" His tone dropped lower still, turning black. "I don't know how I can go on this way, live with myself and this failure." Hopelessly, he explained, "I don't want to."

"Shuichi." My pulse thrilled with panic, but I had to stay calm. I grasped tightly at his wrist. "Listen to me. If you're saying what I think you're saying…"

Shame burning in his eyes, he turned away again to study the coffee table.

"That's enough of that. The kids and I need you. Even if you can't be here all the time, we need you to be _alive_, Shuichi!"

For a long time, he sat still, and the only sound filling our house came from the clock ticking on the wall, but inside me, an endless scream had started, and a windstorm of fear brutalized all my composure, impatience, and confusion. We'd bought this house together; I'd painted the walls and picked out all the furniture. He used to come home dead tired and smile at me anyway, telling me how great everything looked, telling me how much he loved me. We'd raised both kids here; Yumi took her first steps in this very living room. Tomi broke his arm falling out of the willow in the backyard last summer. We'd built our lives in this place, and yes, Shuichi hadn't been around for much of it, always at work, always giving mysterious answers to what seemed like simple questions. In the last decade, my capacity for that had almost worn out completely, and telling myself I knew what I'd signed up for when I married a cop didn't work anymore. So many nights had been spent alone on this couch, waiting up for him, until defeat set in, and I'd woken so many times to find him still missing. His emotional distance had become a concrete wall, and, now, even if he was with me, I felt like he was far away.

But despite all that, to think of life without him—really without him—knowing he wasn't just out there slaving away at some case, that he was honestly and truly gone forever, and that there was no hope he'd _ever_ come through that door again, threatened to destroy me.

Springing to my feet, I shouted, "Don't you dare do that to me, you idiot! Don't you dare, _ever_ do that to me!" My eyes burned and my heart panted. The rock I'd been trying to swallow seemed to have dropped into my stomach.

He stared up at me with wide, drunken eyes.

"God!" I sobbed. "You can't really think that's the answer. Leaving me _alone_ like that! Abandoning your _kids_! Asking Yumi to graduate high school without you. Asking Tomi to play little league every summer without you! Asking me to pack everything you've ever owned into a box because I can't stand to look at it anymore. Asking _me_ to put _you_ in a box and forget about _you!_"

"Eriko—"

"I love you!" I cried, breaking into tears. "I love you so, so much, Shuichi! Damn, you make me angry, but I love the life I have with you! Please don't throw all that away!"

With a ragged sob of his own, he caught my wrist and pulled me down against him, and I found myself wrapped up in his arms, crying on his shoulder and clinging so hard to him I thought I might break. "You can't," I gasped over and over, "you can't. I won't let you. Don't even think about it."

I felt him breathing in my hair, biting back tears.

In a moment, when I'd gotten myself under control again, I sat up and looked at him, vision still blurry, consumed by the pain I saw on his face.

Sniffling, I scraped hair away from my damp cheeks. "Whatever's happened, I know you can fix it."

"I'm not so sure," he croaked.

"Of course you can. You're good at that." I threaded my fingers up into his hair, pressing my lips to his forehead. "I know it's really hard sometimes…but that's why you're the boss."

Inhaling deeply, he nuzzled my neck and rested his face there. "I love you."

I squeezed him tight. "I love you too. Please don't leave me."

His arms tightened around my back. "Never."

**Ide**

I awoke to find Aizawa missing. His laptop sat, still open, on the coffee table, and his coat hung in the foyer closet with Mogi's, so I assumed he must have gone downstairs to get breakfast, or maybe to stretch after a long night on the couch.

Sleeping in a real bed for the first time in almost a week had recharged me some, and I thought it might be good to catch him alone, so I went to look for him. After the conversation we'd had yesterday, we'd barely spoken; I didn't know if he was angry with me, but _I_ felt angry. We'd been having a hard time seeing eye-to-eye already, and to have him come find me specifically to yell at me after I'd had such a close brush with death had opened up a rift of resentment inside my heart. Next thing I knew, we were watching a torture video, and then checking into a hotel. Things were happening too fast to process—every time I turned around, some horrifying, new aspect of this case emerged, and with each event it seemed Shuichi grew a few paces further away.

_No reason for that_, I told myself as I took the elevator down to the lobby. This was difficult enough without taking it out on each other.

Besides, as much as we might bicker like a married couple, more than anything else in the world, I absolutely hated to fight—really fight—with Shuichi.

Dredging up a heartfelt apology had never been easy for me, but he knew that, so when I found him, in all likelihood, he'd kick off with the apologies anyway, in a race to come across as the bigger man, we'd get through a quick conversation about the mistakes we'd both made, redefine our priorities over a cigarette, and go back upstairs like it never happened. No big deal.

First, I checked the breakfast bar, grabbing coffee while I was there and scanning the crowd for his towering, brooding shape, but in a few moments, it became clear he wasn't there, and I moved on.

Hunting through the lobby, I revised my plan. That video had been sickening, and I'd seen all over his face how disturbed and guilty it made Shuichi feel. Last night, he'd been distant, hardly speaking. Not that he was overly talkative in the first place, but a cloud of distress had hung over him, and I'd known he was really upset. I was upset too, but I didn't have his stupid habit of trying to make everything my fault—bad things happened to good people, that was all. Sure, Matsuda was the victim this time, and therefore all of us. I just didn't see how anyone could have prevented it.

Originally, I'd thought it was possible _I'd_ slipped up somewhere, but now I saw that Tero psycho was just a dark horse in the ongoing threats against us.

Unfortunately, Shuichi didn't think that way. I knew he believed he should have prevented this, should have found Matsuda right away, should have known that something was wrong the second we saw him at the gas station. That's what he'd be thinking. I couldn't change what he thought, but I could at least remind him that we were all in this together and that I had his back.

But Shuichi wasn't in the lobby, and I didn't find him outside. Smoking, sipping coffee, and planning out what I should say, I walked to the parking garage. It was possible he'd gone to his car for some reason.

That was gone too. I spent some time searching for it next, but that was a major distraction, and after ten minutes, I decided there were better ways to spend my time, and I called him. The phone rang and rang. Of course it did. Obviously, he didn't want to talk to me, and driving gave him a built in excuse to not answer.

Pangs of worry started to throb inside me as I strode back into the hotel. "Where are you, dumb ass?" I demanded, not meaning to, when I got his voicemail. Sheepishly, I added, quieter, "Call me, okay?"

Even if he'd gone somewhere, we could still have a little heart-to-heart over the phone. Nothing dramatic, just a quick clarification on where we stood with one another.

Back in the room, I tried texting him.

_I'm sorry about everything_, I typed out, and then deleted it. What did I have to be sorry for? I'd only been trying to help Matsuda.

_It's a new day. Let's talk before we do anything else._

Still kinda dumb.

_Call me, I'm worried about you._

Gay.

_Shuichi, call me right away—very important._

True, urgent, to the point. He'd answer.

I hit send.

In the closet, I heard his text tone sound off, and, cursing under my breath, stomped over to fish his flip phone from the pocket of his coat. "Great."

Thoughtfully, I turned it over in my hands, noticing the places it was worn or grimy from use and the chips and nicks from dropping it. Eriko gave him the KRZR for his thirty-fifth birthday, even though he hadn't necessarily wanted it, but she'd convinced him it would be useful for work and calling home. When he got overly distracted, he tended to forget it existed and leave it behind.

Sighing, I scanned the foyer. Even if he wasn't back soon, his notes on Max Cooper would probably be thorough enough for me to launch a search without him.

Beside the houseplant next to the entrance, I spotted a small, silver object, suspiciously familiar.

Taking the cigarette from my mouth, I crouched to retrieve the jump drive, examining it, but it was definitely the same one we'd received yesterday. I hadn't realized it came with us from the station after Aizawa tossed it, repulsed, into his desk drawer, but I could only think of one reason for him to bring it along.

_Don't jump to conclusions_, I told myself, springing across the room to jiggle the mouse of his laptop, stirring it out of sleep mode. Sure enough, a frame of that atrocious footage awaited me beneath an error icon that said the source had been removed.

I stood, smoking and turning the jump drive over and over, thinking. It made sense that someone would have to watch the whole video, but I hadn't thought it would be any of the four of us—that was inappropriate at best—but then, as chief, maybe Aizawa didn't feel he had the luxury of opting out. If he'd come to that conclusion, he'd naturally prefer to view it alone. Buried beneath his gruff exoskeleton, he was a highly sensitive person who didn't like to see others suffer and didn't want anyone to witness him breaking down.

What bothered me was finding the drive on the floor right after his coming up missing. Easily, I imagined him losing it, ripping the drive from his computer without a thought, and slinging it across the room as he stormed for the door.

But where would he go? Did he get upset and go after Max Cooper on his own? Could something have happened to him?

Still swallowing the pointed feeling of my concerns, I crossed the suite to where Mogi lay in one of the double beds, hands folded on his chest like a vampire.

"Wake up." I shook his shoulder.

Eyes opening immediately, he met my gaze, already alert.

"Shuichi is gone," I explained calmly, through a breath of smoke, to spite the worry igniting inside me.

With a brief sigh, he sat up and rubbed his eyes like an oversized child.

"He left his phone. And this." I held up the drive.

Mogi nodded, though, it occurred to me he might not know yet what the drive contained. Next, he took a moment to gaze around the suite, noticing the laptop on the coffee table at once. "He'll be back."

He'd have to be, I thought. After the things he'd said to me yesterday, I doubted he'd leave this case in my hands, or abandon Matsuda.

While Mogi went down to get breakfast, I checked on the kid, passed out face down, in the queen-sized bed, arms spread free-falling style. Blankets hung over one corner, messily, like he'd been fighting in his sleep.

Lately, he'd been up at dawn, prattling incessantly about his damned directive, but between wearing down and drinking a ton of alcohol, I doubted he'd be up for a while.

Just as well, I thought, going back to sit at the table. As soon as he got out of bed, he'd be all but running for the door, off on his next daredevil mission, and, after yesterday, I doubted I could stop him.

I needed to make a plan before he woke up.

By the time Mogi came back, the sun had risen fully, filling the suite with golden light, and I'd smoked five cigarettes already. He sat down with me, munching a bran muffin, sipping orange juice, and perusing the notes he'd taken on his phone, while I spun the jump drive between my hands on the table, gaze always at the door.

A full hour ticked by like that before I said, "Maybe we should look for him."

"Where?" Mogi wondered.

"The station? He talked about going home."

"I'm sure he'll be back," he told me again, always the voice of reason.

"And if he's not?"

"We have plenty of information to work on without him."

That wasn't my main concern. _Matsuda_ vanished like this not two weeks ago, and reassuring ourselves that he'd be fine had been a waste of time.

What happened to Matsu was bad enough; if something happened to Shuichi, I wouldn't know how to keep going.

I would have to, though. I couldn't ask Mogi to complete this investigation on his own. I couldn't turn my back on Matsuda.

"If you want to go look for him," Mogi suggested, easily, "by all means."

I wouldn't know where to start; the station, or his house. For all I knew he'd be back here by the time I reached either. Of course, I trusted Mogi, but after yesterday, I was more determined than ever not to let Matsuda out of my sight.

Even if I took him with me, I wasn't sure what he'd do.

The cold way he'd held Uko-san and his men at gunpoint, determined the execute them without conscience, still made me shudder with disbelief, and I hated to think what would have happened if I hadn't been there.

Instead of leaving, I tried calling the station, but Danuja said the chief hadn't been in all morning. When I called Eriko, the phone rang and rang, but that probably just meant she was focused on getting the kids off to school.

Worry surged through me, threatening to take over, so I sat back in my chair, craning my head and thinking up a plan. As long as Matsuda kept sleeping, I could give Aizawa one more hour to show up or contact me, but after that, I'd have to start searching. I should review his notes on Cooper to see if there were any locations he might have run off to.

Nagging Matsuda about eating and tending to his wounds might stall him a little while, especially if I geared it toward getting his directive complete. In the end, no matter what happened, I had to make sure I kept him with me.

"I'm sure Aizawa is fine, Ide," Mogi assured me, as I began poring through the chief's notes.

"I know he is," I snapped. "I want to find this Cooper asshole, and we don't have time to wait for that prick."

Mogi nodded deeply, and as usual, I couldn't tell if he believed me, but I found his unwavering calm, his way of making me look foolish, grating. Probably best not to talk to him.

For the next fifteen minutes, I stared at Aizawa's handwriting, professionally neat, like always, but blotched with pinpoints of ink where he'd slammed the pen. Information was well-organized, and he'd written a lot—facts and theories—for just one night of cruising through Facebook. Apparently, he did have some ideas about where to go and look for the man, but they were vague, little scribbles, such as, 'looks like such and such club,' or, 'photo taken on this specific beach,' and, 'made mention of this hotel—could be staying there.'

_You were always better at this than me._

My heart sank. Shuichi might be out scouting the whole city for Cooper, comparing pictures on social media to scenery. He had been known to crack cases that way, if only because he had the doggedness to spend days on foot, vehemently interrogating strangers and examining every stupid brick he came across like a piece of evidence.

I'd never had that kind of patience, but it used to be nice to go out walking, get the blood pumping, practically talking to myself while he grunted responses and spaced out, treating the whole city like a crime scene.

_You'd better be okay._

I glanced at the jump drive again. If he watched that video, I wasn't completely sure he'd be thinking about finding Cooper at all. I wasn't sure what he _would_ be thinking.

My phone rang, scaring the hell out of me. I snatched it up and answered without checking the number, "Shuichi?"

Mogi raised his eyebrows at my frantic tone.

There was a long pause, and then Kei said, "No, Anata, it's me."

Shoulders slumping, I took a harsh drag on my cigarette. "What do you want, Komagata?"

Again, she hesitated, and then her voice took on an unfamiliar but sharp edge of annoyance. "Wow. Is that any way to talk to your girlfriend?"

"I don't have time to talk to you," I grumped. "I'm busy."

Kei sighed. "Are you okay? You sound really high-strung."

"I'm fine. I just don't have time to talk to you."

"Yeah, no, you don't. You need to check the news right away."

"What's on the news?" I caught Mogi's eye and jerked my chin at Aizawa's laptop, which he went to retrieve, dutifully, at once.

"You'll see," Kei muttered. "I'd explain it to you, but it sounds like you're not in the mood."

"Kei," I sighed, "don't take it that way."

"Did you lose Chief?"

"No… I just don't know where he is right now."

"Yeah, well, keep your shit together, Hideki. You're gonna need it."

Behind me, Mogi said, louder than normal. "Oh! No… Ide?"

"I gotta go," I told her quickly. "Call you later." I hung up on her, feeling like a jackass, but by the time I reached Mogi and stood looking over his shoulder at the laptop screen, all that vanished.

'Kira Returns!' Every headline rejoiced in it. 'For First Time In a Year, Kira Punishes the Wicked!' Even, 'Welcome Back, God Kira!'

"What the hell's going on?" I muttered, fumbling with my cigarettes.

"The notebook," Mogi answered lowly, barely glancing at me, and then began to read aloud the joyous accounts of Kira's latest acts as god, the speculations on where he'd been for a year, the criticism of the NPA for announcing his death, the hopeful projections for a bright future under his rule, and finally, the details of the murders.

Light had been messed up, no doubt about that, but in all his time of acting as Kira, I'd never heard of him doing anything so sadistic as the slough of murders committed late last night. For one thing, the victims seemed to be random people—nowhere near hardened criminals—and their deaths were horrifying, suicides, mostly, but incredibly violent even for self-annihilation. One man ripped his own intestines out and died eating them, another gouged out her own eyes before drinking a whole bottle of drain cleaner. A teen-aged construction worker hung himself with razor wire. An older gentleman slaughtered his entire family with a hatchet before chopping off his own hands and dying from the shock.

Mogi stayed incredibly calm given the macabre nature of his words, but every word added to the panic already threatening to take over inside me, and soon I felt dizzy and breathless.

In the midst of the report, Matsuda appeared to stand beside me, listening without emotion to the gruesome deaths. "Tero's using the notebook," he decided when Mogi finished reading. "He must have figured out he can control the victims before killing them, but I'm not surprised. In fact, that's probably the first thing he tried."

"Sick piece of shit," I husked, shaking.

"Some of the victims left notes," Mogi announced in a suspiciously tight voice. "Each one made mention of Kira's return."

"That would be why the newscasters are attributing these deaths to him."

"Pretty sick," Matsuda commented, "getting all excited by something like this."

Mogi sat back suddenly. "This can't go on."

"This is probably just the beginning," Matsuda said. "I mean, I don't know if he'd really _enjoy_ killing like this. He likes things to be personal. Still, if he can convince everyone he's Kira, I guess he could take over the whole world, huh?" he looked at me for confirmation.

In terms of tools, the death note would be all Tero needed to take over the world, but that was only because Light had laid so much ground work. There was no way he was smart as Light, and that gave us an advantage, but even one more day of this would be too much.

Hand shaking, I clasped my forehead. "What does this psychopath want?" I asked quietly.

Matsuda widened his eyes at me. "Um. To kill people. I mean, he didn't tell me any of his plans, but if I had to guess, he just gets off on hurting someone—anyone."

Automatically, I looked at the jump drive, lying on the table. Shuichi watched as much of that video as he could stomach, and then disappeared. I was stupid not to go look for him right away. He could be in trouble, and he was up against one sadistic son of a bitch.

Partly to steady myself, and partly out of regret, I grabbed onto Matsuda's shoulder. "Kiddo… Would you go clean yourself up, please? Then we can get going."

"Sure," he said in a voice that made me sure he had no intention of complying, and he barely glanced at me before scanning the suite. "Where's Aizawa?"

"I don't know right now."

He took that in stride also. "We should go bust Max Cooper. That's the fastest way to find the notebook right now."

"Yeah. We're gonna. I'd appreciate it if you'd do what I tell you."

Matsuda's mouth cocked to one side, and he turned to me again. "You look like you're about to be sick."

"I'm fine. Just—"

The door opened, and Aizawa strolled in wearing a fresh suit and his sunglasses, looking perfectly fine and normal, if not more serious than ever, and my heart skipped a beat at the sight of him.

"Welcome back," Matsuda said automatically.

"Welcome back," Mogi echoed, not looking up from the computer screen.

"Where the hell have you been?" I snapped. "I looked all over the grounds for you."

"I'm sure you didn't search the whole grounds," Aizawa told me, smoothly, as he sauntered across the suite to join us. "Are you looking at the news?"

"We were just talking about how to get started without you. You know, you could have told someone where you were going." I gestured to the laptop. "We're dealing with a bonafide psycho who just upgraded from kidnapper to serial killer, and you take off without your phone."

"Sorry," he said unapologetically. "I had to run home."

Judging by the clean look of him, freshly showered and shaved, somewhat rested, he'd spent the night at home, but it would take more than that to bite back the last of my worries.

"You should have taken your phone," I snarled. "You're lucky we didn't leave you behind."

Removing his sunglasses, Aizawa rolled his eyes and frowned at me. "Look, sorry if I scared you—"

"I wasn't scared."

"After yesterday, you've got no room to talk, Ide."

"Right. I made a mistake, so now we've all got free range to do whatever dumb thing we feel like." I laughed.

"Going home without my phone is nowhere near as dumb as walking into a club full of gang bangers. So cool it."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't realize being chief meant you get to do whatever you want without criticism."

Matsuda jerked next to me, suddenly, and gave an exasperated sigh. "Seriously? Can't you just tell him you were worried and you're glad he's okay?"

I shot him a glare. "I wasn't _worried_."

"It's really easy." He turned to Aizawa matter-of-factly. "He was really worried, and he's glad you're okay. Just like you were really worried about him yesterday."

"Thanks for clearing that up, Matsu," Shuichi muttered. "Please go get dressed."

Matsuda tromped away, at last, adding, loudly, "We don't have time for you guys to fight."

"Clean your fucking arm!" I called after him. "You can't complete your directive if they have to amputate it."

"Hideki." Aizawa touched my shoulder. "Calm down."

Remembering the way he'd pushed me off yesterday, I shrugged away from him. "I am calm. You're the one who can't seem to handle this."

His eyes flashed.

Mogi cleared his throat, loudly. "Matsuda's right. You both need to stop this." He looked back, first at me, then at Aizawa, expression bordering on stern. "We're in a crisis."

Still, the chief scowled at me, and I held his gaze, refusing to back down.

He growled, "You'd better fix your attitude, Captain." And then he ordered, louder, "Everyone get your stuff. We're checking out."

Darkly, I reminded him, "We don't have a plan yet."

"We don't need one. I know where to find Max Cooper."


End file.
